THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

Louis  Knott  Kocntz 


AXSON  K.  GRAVES  AT  SIXTY   YKAK>  OF  AGE. 


«^«ea»isaKasas«»«s»*K«K«K«*«»s«^5f5f*w 


THE  FARMER  BOY 

WHO 

BECAME  A  BISHOP 


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The  Autobiography    of 

The  Right  Reverend 
ANSON  ROGERS  GRAVES, 


Compliments  of  the  Eutbor< 


AKRON.   OHIO 
1911 


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.,SS.>N   K.  <iKAVKS  AT  SIXTY   YEAKS  OF  AGE. 


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THE  FARMER  BOY 

WHO== 

BECAME  A  BISHOP 


The   Autobiography    of 

The  Right  Reverend 

ANSON  ROGERS  GRAVES, 

S.  T.  D.,  LL.  D. 


THE  NEW  WERNER  COMPANY 

AKRON.   OHIO 

1911 


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<i»^Kr^i«c»SS'Ki»?  »5Wr^i«?^!s?^ii?^i«?^i«»  ^'*»  -«■«»  ^'^  »^'«*  '^'"'^  '5'«»  '*'*'  -*■**  **'**  *"*• 


Copyright,    1911 

By 
AniOD  R.  Graves 


This  book  can  be  obtained  at  Bookstores  at  fifty 
cents  per  volume.  If  the  book  dealer  does  not 
have  it  and  will  not  order  same  for  you,  The  New 
Werner  Company  of  Akron,  Ohio,  will  supply 
same  ou  receipt  of  price. 


3?X 


DEDICATION. 


I  dedicate  this  book  to  all  boys  who 
want  to  make  something  of  themselves. 


836Gi)4 


CONTENTS. 

Chapter.  Page. 

1.      Childhood    '.-. 5 

II.      Frontier  Life    9 

III.  Childish  Aspirations    15 

IV.  Farm  Life    .  .  . 25 

V.      Political  Aspirations .    33 

VI.     School  Days  in   Rutland 38 

VII.      Freshman  Year  in  College 49 

VIII.     Sophomore   Year    56 

IX.      Later  College  Career 67 

X.      Teaching    and    Business 76 

XI.     Seminary   Life    83 

XIL      Europe     87 

XIII.  Germany .    94 

XIV.  Work  in  the  West 1  00 

XV.     Work  in  New  England 1  04 

XVI.     Gethsemane  Church,  Minneapolis 1  08 

XVII,      Early  Episcopate    114 

XVin.      1891    121 

XIX.     1892  125 

XX.     1893 126 

XXL     1894 130 

XXIL     1895   136 

XXIIL     1896 140 

XXIV.     1897 -. 144 

XXV.     1898  147 

XXVL     1899 150 

XXVII.     1900 154 

XXVIH.     1901    158 

XXIX.     1902 161 

XXX.     1903  164 

XXXL     1904 168 

XXXII.     1905 171 

XXXIIL     1906 177 

XXXIV.     1907  187 

XXXV.     1908 191 

XXXVL     1909 195 

XXXVIL     1910 ..200 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHILDHOOD. 

AMONG  the  green  hills  of  western  Vermont,  where 
the  Pond  Mountains  almost  overhang  the  beau- 
tiful Lake  Austin,  I  was  born  on  the  1 3th  day  of  April, 
1 842.  It  was  in  the  Town  of  Wells,  Rutland  County. 
We  then  lived  by  a  small  stream,  the  outlet  of  the 
lake,  on  which  was  a  small  flouring  mill.  In  a  room 
attached  to  this  mill  my  father  had  a  shop  in  which  he 
manufactured  hats,  both  the  ordinary  wool  hats  and 
the  high  beaver  hats  worn  by  many  men  on  special 
occasions. 

My  father,  whose  name  was  Daniel,  was  the  son 
of  Daniel  Graves  of  Ira,  Vermont,  who  kept  the 
hotel,  manufactured  shoes,  leather  and  potash,  and 
represented  the  town  in  the  legislature.  He  had  come 
as  a  young  married  man  from  Old  Hadley  in  the 
western  part  of  Massachusetts.  My  great-grandfather 
was  Deacon  Nathan  Graves,  who  was  fifth  in  descent 
from  Thomas  Graves,  formerly  of  Hartford,  Con- 
necticut, and  who  came  to  this  country  from  England 
about  1640.  Deacon  Nathan  Graves,  my  great- 
grandfather, lived  on  Chestnut  Mountain  in  Fladley, 
Massachusetts,  and  both  he  and  his  boys  were  con- 
sidered great  hunters.  As  they  lived  at  the  time  of 
the  Revolutionary  War,  no  doubt  game  was  plenty 


6  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

in  western  Massachusetts.  Perhaps  it  was  from  them 
that  I  inherited  my  great  fondness  for  hunting  wild 
game.  Nathan  Graves  bore  arms  in  the  French  and 
Indian  War  and  also  in  the  Revolutionary  War.  My 
grandfather,  Daniel,  v/as  too  young,  but  five  of  his 
older  brothers  fought  in  the  Revolutionary  War.  The 
great-grandfather  of  this  Nathan  Graves,  John  Graves, 
and  his  brother  were  killed  in  King  Philip's  War. 
My  mother  was  the  daughter  of  Jedediah  Rogers, 
who  had  moved  from  Norwich,  Connecticut.  He  was 
fourth  in  descent  from  James  Rogers  of  New  Lon- 
don, Connecticut,  who  came  from  England  about 
1635.  My  grandfather  Rogers,  when  a  child,  saw 
the  burning  of  New  London  by  Benedict  Arnold  in 
the  Revolutionary  War. 

I  was  rather  a  feeble  child  the  first  two  years  and 
nervous,  but  gradually  became  strong  and  active  like 
my  brothers.  One  of  my  earliest  recollections  was 
attending  a  district  school  over  Culver  Hill  when  I 
was  three  or  four  years  old  with  my  older  sisters  and 
brother  Orson.  My  brother  drew  a  hand  sled  to 
school  in  the  winter  and  on  our  way  home  we  would 
all  get  on  and  coast  down  the  Culver  Hill  for  a  quarter 
of  a  mile.  There  were  two  or  three  ridges  across  this 
road  down  the  hill  to  turn  the  water  into  the  side 
gutter.  These  we  called  "  thank  you  ma'ams  "  and  as 
the  sled  would  strike  these  and  take  a  jump  we  would 
all  shout  "  Thank  you  ma'am." 

One  time,  when  I  was  about  four  years  old,  while 


IVho  Became  a  Bishop  7 

coming  up  the  other  side  of  this  hill  with  my  father,  we 
sat  down  by  the  road-side  to  rest.  I  remember  asking 
my  father  how  men  when  they  cut  down  trees  kept 
the  trees  from  falling  on  them.  He  took  a  stick  and 
stood  it  on  end  to  illustrate  and  explained  that  when 
the  tree  began  to  fall  it  moved  very  slowly  and  the 
men  could  see  which  way  it  was  going  to  fall  and  then 
ran  around  the  other  side.  I  was  much  with  my  father 
in  those  days,  who  seemed  to  enjoy  answering  all  my 
questions  and  explaining  things  to  me.  He  was  a  se- 
date, thoughtful  and  ingenious  man,  a  friend  and  often 
a  help  to  the  school  teachers  in  solving  their  more  dif- 
ficult problems.  In  those  days  he  invented  a  water- 
wheel  on  the  principle  of  the  turbine  wheel,  and  put 
one  into  the  flouring  mill,  but  its  power  and  velocity 
shook  the  mill  so  much  that  the  owner  became  alarmed 
and  had  it  taken  out.  That  was  about  1840,  and 
before  the  turbine  wheel  was  known  or  used  in  this 
country,  as  far  as  I  can  learn. 

During  the  Mexican  War  some  one  invented  the 
way  of  making  the  high  hats  out  of  silk  instead  of 
beaver  fur,  and  that  ruined  my  father's  business  en- 
tirely. At  the  age  of  nearly  fifty  years,  he  found  him- 
self with  a  family  of  six  children  without  a  business  or 
profession.  Some  of  my  uncles  had  moved  before 
this  to  the  northern  part  of  Illinois  and  taken  up  land 
from  the  government.  My  oldest  brother,  Henry,  had 
already  gone  out  to  the  lead  mines  at  Galena,  Illinois. 
The  uncles  encouraged  my  father  to  move  west  and  go 


8  The  Farmer  Boy 

to  farming.  His  brother,  Mr.  George  Graves,  gave 
some  money  to  help  move  us  out. 

This  removal  to  the  far  west  in  1847  was  a  land- 
mark in  my  life,  for  from  that  time  on  I  remember 
everything  that  happened.  Part  of  our  household 
goods  were  sold  and  the  rest  carefully  packed  in  large 
boxes.  My  mother  cooked  up  a  large  quantity  of  food 
to  last  us  on  our  journey.  Several  teams  took  us  and 
our  goods  to  Whitehall,  New  York,  which  was  one 
terminus  of  the  Erie  Canal.  While  waiting  for  the 
boat  there,  my  father  took  me  up  to  the  top  of  a  steep 
hill  to  get  a  view  of  Lake  Champlain  and  the  country. 
On  our  way  down,  I  fell  and  began  to  roll  swiftly 
down  the  hill.  Fortunately  something  brought  me  to  a 
stop  on  the  very  brink  of  an  overhanging  cliff  of  rocks. 

Presently  we  entered  the  canal  boat  with  one  or  two 
other  families,  where  we  lived  for  two  weeks,  while  the 
boat  was  towed  by  horses  through  the  State  of  New 
York  to  Buffalo.  Somewhere  along  the  line  of  the 
canal  I  saw  the  first  locomotive.  The  first  railroad  in 
the  state  was  just  then  being  built.  At  one  point  in 
this  journey,  while  the  boat  was  being  weighed,  some- 
thing on  shore  attracted  my  attention  and  I  was 
thoughtlessly  walking  off  the  boat  into  the  canal  when 
some  gentleman  caught  me  by  my  clothes  and  saved 
my  life.  Quite  often  we  passed  under  bridges  and 
some  of  these  were  not  much  higher  than  the  deck  of 
the  boat.    Then  some  one  would  cry  out,  **  Low  bridge 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  9 

ahead,"  and  we  would  all  lie  down  on  the  deck  of  the 
boat  till  we  passed  under  the  bridge. 

At  length  we  reached  Buffalo,  where  we  were  trans- 
ferred to  a  large  steamboat  named  the  Empire  State. 
We  were  four  days  passing  through  three  great  lakes 
to  Chicago.  On  the  steamer  we  could  run  about  with 
great  freedom  and  were  very  happy.  Chicago,  where 
we  landed,  was  then  a  village  of  about  five  thousand 
people.  We  found  some  farmers  who  had  been  haul- 
ing wheat  to  Chicago  to  take  us  and  our  goods  sixty 
miles  to  Marengo,  Illinois,  where  my  uncles  lived. 
Before  we  got  out  of  what  is  now  Chicago  the  wagons 
stuck  fast  in  the  deep  mud,  so  they  had  to  double  up 
the  teams  and  pry  the  wheels  up  with  rails  taken  from 
fences. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FRONTIER      LIFE. 

ON  arriving  at  the  end  of  our  long  journey  of  a 
thousand  miles,  which  had  taken  us  three  weeks, 
we  moved  into  a  log  house  which  had  been  deserted  by 
one  of  the  uncles.  This  was  covered  with  shakes,  a 
kind  of  long  shingle  split  out  of  oak  logs.  These  had 
warped  and  twisted  badly,  so  the  snow  blew  in  and 
the  rain  came  through.  However,  my  mother,  who  was 
a  good  housekeeper,  kept  everything  neat  and  reason- 


10  The  Farmer  Bo"^ 

ably  comfortable.  Here  we  lived  for  two  years,  my 
father  cultivating  some  land  of  my  uncle's  and  other 
neighbors,  giving  one-third  of  the  crop  for  rent.  Some- 
times I  rode  horse  for  cultivating  the  com,  or  attended 
school  in  a  log  school  house  about  two  miles  away. 
While  we  were  living  here  I  had  the  measles  and  was 
so  very  ill  that  my  life  was  despaired  of.  I  can  recall 
now  some  of  the  visions  o»-  dreams  which  I  then  had 
when  delirious.  As  I  became  better,  I  remember  fall- 
ing down  in  my  efforts  to  walk  and  how  later  on  I  cried 
because  I  was  too  weak  to  run  races  with  the  boys.  I 
must  have  been  for  the  most  part  very  happy  in  those 
days,  for  besides  my  two  sisters  a  few  years  older  and 
my  brother  Daniel,  two  years  younger,  I  had  plenty 
of  cousins  and  little  friends  to  play  with.  I  recall  that 
I  was  ambitious  to  excel  them  in  running,  jumping  and 
wrestling,  and  generally  did  those  of  my  age  and  size. 
I  was  rather  small  of  my  age,  but  very  quick  and  active. 
We  lived  at  the  edge  of  Pleasant  Grove  with  the  prairie 
stretching  away  to  the  north  of  us. 

After  two  years,  my  father  rented  a  farm  on  the 
prairie  two  miles  to  the  north  near  another  uncle.  We 
moved  there  into  another  log  house  the  spring  that  I 
was  seven  years  old.  I  should  fail  of  my  duty  if  I  did 
not  speak  of  another  who  for  thirteen  years  was  a  faith- 
ful if  not  a  bosom  friend  of  my  brother  Daniel  and  my- 
self. This  was  our  dog.  Watch.  He  was  born  in  the 
family,  so  to  speak,  when  I  was  six  years  old.  He  was 
a  half-blooded  pointer,  but  yellow  as  gold,  large,  strong 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 1 

and  brave ;  a  great  hunter  of  all  kinds  of  game.  Prairie 
chickens,  quails,  ducks,  wild  geese,  rabbits  and  rac- 
coons were  plenty  in  those  days,  and  some  of  these 
we  hunted  with  Watch  before  we  could  carry  a  gun 
or  shoot.  During  the  wheat  harvest  of  the  summer 
when  I  was  seven,  while  Dan  and  I  were  carrying  to- 
gether the  sheaves  of  wheat  for  shocking,  we  heard 
Watch  bark  and  leap  high  above  the  standing  grain. 
My  older  brothers,  Henry  and  Orson,  who  were 
swinging  the  cradles  with  which  they  cut  the  grain,  went 
to  see  what  was  the  matter  and  found  a  large  rattle- 
snake coiled  up  which  had  just  bitten  Watch  on  the  end 
of  the  nose.  We  dug  the  root  of  a  plant  called  snake- 
weed, pounded  it  and  steeped  it  in  milk.  This  we  ap- 
plied to  the  wound  and  compelled  the  dog  to  swallow 
some  of  it.  The  end  of  his  nose  swelled  up  as  large  as 
the  back  part  of  his  head  and  he  was  dreadfully  sick 
for  a  week,  but  finally  recovered  entirely. 

Across  the  north  end  of  the  farm  ran  a  good  sized 
stream  called  the  Kishwaukee.  Muskrats,  minks  and 
coons  were  plenty  along  this  creek.  My  grandfather 
Rogers,  who  lived  with  an  uncle  a  mile  away,  had 
about  a  dozen  traps  and  used  to  set  them  along  this 
creek.  He  was  fond  of  taking  me  along  to  the  traps 
and  would  carry  me  on  his  back  over  the  wet  places. 
My  excitement  was  always  great  as  we  drew  near  each 
trap  to  see  whether  anything  was  in  it  and  whether 
it  was  dead  or  alive.  Watch  often  went  with  us  on 
these  trips  and  when  there  was  a  coon  in  the  trap,  there 


12  The  Farmer  Boy 

followed  a  great  fight  between  it  and  the  dog.  My 
grandfather  taught  me  how  to  set  the  traps,  bait  them 
for  the  different  animals,  how  to  skin  them  and  cure 
the  skins.  This  was  of  great  interest  to  me  then  and 
of  use  in  later  years. 

That  winter  my  cousin,  Henry  Rogers,  taught  the 
district  school  in  our  neighborhood.  One  day  a  pupil 
came  across  a  problem  in  the  arithmetic  which  neither 
he  nor  the  teacher  could  solve.  Cousin  Henry  came  to 
my  father  for  help.  That  evening  my  father  went  as 
usual  to  the  pasture  to  milk  the  cow.  I  followed  along, 
but  could  get  no  response  from  my  father  to  my  chat- 
ter and  many  questions.  He  was  "  in  a  brown  study." 
When  we  returned,  he  told  my  mother  he  had  solved 
Henry's  problem.  Many  years  afterward,  when  home 
on  a  vacation  from  college,  I  asked  my  father  about 
that  problem.  He  told  me  what  it  was  and  how  he 
solved  it.  To  my  great  surprise,  I  found  he  had  solved 
it  by  an  algebraic  process  which  he  had  invented  for 
himself.  He  had  never  seen  an  algebra.  In  a  similar 
way  he  had  proved  to  his  own  satisfaction  many  of 
the  theorems  of  geometry,  inventing  and  studying  his 
way  along  without  a  book.  Every  smooth  board  about 
the  place  was  covered  with  geometric  figures. 

At  this  time  my  two  older  brothers,  being  at  home, 
did,  with  my  father,  all  the  work  of  the  farm.  My  two 
sisters,  Maria  Jane,  six  years  older,  and  Mary  Adelia, 
four  years  older  than  myself,  helped  my  mother  in 
household  duties.    We  never  had,  that  I  remember,  a 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  13 

servant  in  the  house.  When  the  mother  was  not  well 
my  sisters  and  all  of  us  used  to  help  with  the  house- 
work. I  can  hardly  remember  the  time  when  I  could 
not  make  warm  bread  or  cakes  for  breakfast.  We 
took  a  pride  in  doing  those  things  for  our  mother,  who 
was  generally  sewing  on  our  clothes  late  into  the  night 
and  consequently  not  up  early  in  the  morning.  Ready- 
made  clothing  was  not  found  in  the  stores  in  those  days, 
and  my  mother,  v/ho  could  do  most  anything  with  her 
needle,  made  all  the  clothing  for  the  family  from 
stockings  to  the  best  coat.  She  even  carded  the  wool 
and  spun  the  yarn  for  the  socks,  and  used  to  show  us 
woolen  sheets  she  had  woven  when  younger.  She  was 
a  great  reader,  and  used  to  read  aloud  to  us  such  stories 
as  came  in  the  weekly  paper. 

Daniel  and  I  went  to  school  when  there  was  school, 
about  seven  months  of  the  year,  turned  the  grindstone 
for  sharpening  the  scythes,  axes  and  other  tools,  ran  on 
errands,  and  played  the  rest  of  the  time.  Circus  and 
Indian  war  dances  were  our  favorite  plays  in  those 
days. 

I  remember  at  this  time  that  we  four  younger  chil- 
dren said  our  prayers  on  going  to  bed  and  cannot  re- 
member the  time  when  we  began.  I  suppose  they  were 
taught  us  by  our  mother,  though  neither  she  nor  my 
father  were  ever  members  of  any  church.  During  the 
summer  months  there  was  often  a  Sunday  school  in 
the  neighboring  school  house  conducted  by  some  .Bap- 
tist or  Presbyterian  layman.     I  can  remember  commit- 


14  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

ting  to  memory  some  verses  of  Scripture  at  that  time, 
but  nothing  more.  Occasionally  a  rambling  preacher 
gave  us  a  sermon  on  Sunday  afternoon.  In  religious 
matters  we  were  left  for  the  most  part  to  ourselves  and 
grew  up  like  Topsy  with  little  thought  of  such  things. 
Still  my  parents  were  strictly  moral  and  honest.  No 
stimulants  were  used  in  the  family  and  no  tobacco  by 
the  children.  I  do  not  think  any  oath  was  consciously 
uttered  by  any  member  of  the  family.  There  was  no 
serious  quarrelling,  but  only  slight  jars  and  some  com- 
plaining by  the  more  ambitious  ones. 

The  singing  school  was  a  feature  of  our  life  then. 
An  old  man  named  Durgin  with  his  fiddle  conducted 
it  for  us  children  on  Saturday  afternoons  and  for  the 
older  ones  in  the  evenings.  He  used  to  stay  at  our 
house  a  great  deal,  as  my  brother  Henry  took  lessons 
of  him  on  the  violin.  Mr.  Durgin  was  a  jolly  old 
chap  and  a  great  delight  to  us  children  in  our  monot- 
onous farm  life.  We  all  learned  his  songs  and  ditties, 
though  most  of  them  are  long  since  forgotten. 

The  next  spring,  when  I  was  eight  years  old,  my 
father  rented  another  farm  about  two  miles  away  and 
much  farther  from  the  district  school.  Here  was  a 
log  house  and  a  stable  made  of  poles  covered  with 
straw.  Though  small  of  my  age,  I  began  that  spring 
to  plow  in  the  field  alone.  My  father  did  not  own  any 
horses,  but  at  that  time  he  had  a  gentle  yoke  of  oxen. 
One  day,  when  plowing  alone  at  the  back  of  the  farm, 
the  clevis  on  the  plow  broke.     There  was  a  blacksmith 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  15 

shop  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  place  where  I  was 
plowing  and  instead  of  going  home  I  took  the  clevis  to 
the  shop  and  had  it  mended  and  then  went  on  with  the 
plowing.  At  noon  my  father  asked  me  why  I  let  the 
oxen  rest  so  long  at  one  time?  I  then  told  him  of  the 
broken  clevis.  He  was  very  much  surprised  and 
pleased  that  I  had  gotten  it  mended  and  gone  on  with 
the  work  instead  of  coming  home  discouraged. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CHILDISH     ASPIRATIONS. 

A  BOUT  this  time  I  recall  the  first  dawnings  of  an 
''*^  unusual  ambition.  My  father,  when  a  lad  of 
fourteen,  had  played  a  fife  for  a  recruiting  officer  dur- 
ing the  war  with  England  in  1812  and  had  told  me 
stories  of  the  late  war  with  Mexico.  These  filled  me 
with  a  heroic  spirit  and  I  often  called  myself  General 
Scott  or  General  Taylor.  My  mother  made  me  a  little 
flag  of  stars  and  stripes,  and  I  would  carry  it  around 
in  the  winter  till  my  hands  were  nearly  frozen.  About 
this  time  I  fought  the  only  physical  battles  of  my  life. 
There  was  a  boy  about  my  age  but  somewhat  larger 
who  had  said  something  insulting  to  a  little  girl  I  loved. 
We  soon  came  to  blows,  or  more  likely  to  scratching 
and  pulling  of  hair,  and  fought  desperately  till  he  gave 


afw  I  \n\f\\fA  su\h  \imi  v/itjj  rr^;;/' *  >"^  •^aairi.  .^yw.', 
IWMT  *ft/rr  tfiat  w/y  roMfi'rr  w<jut  ;ijt.  }  ^n'J  calling 

Ef*»|ij*  »/>  f>^,  atk/-/J  f/jwi  ^<^/v/  Ke  \.  -bed  hi* 

fiw::*  »f</l  hurt  hw  fjn^/frr  v>  \)nA\y.     .S  Wam'A 

w»fh  wU^;PiX\fm  \\ti>\  \i»:r  vm.  A'  '         r 

WJHuSit^iX  ufA  }/)H/rn  hjt  Uuv^ff.      .S..         ,.  .  .../ 

in^htrr  wf)'>  iJiiniK\tf/\  rr^f.  lu  v/iuf.  why  's'j!  v/hippinj^ 
»};'  1/)^;  l"jf/f/«-r.     Wfiil*;  we  live/j  at  thi*  i>l  UitX 

Ihtlf'iiifi  W<:tl  o/  '^.hK^;/0  WHt  \jUiU  h'  {'At  \\>k  \,f%<.k  *r.n<i 
'ti  »fi«"  iarfth  I  o  v/i%u}t  \\tf,  m'rn  >Uv,  t}>«:  Mjtt,  fj|)  up  Uw: 
)'/•//  \,\iii  ft  itti'\  lay  ^]if  ri)ih  war,  a  luaWmr  of  vj*"')^  inter' 
tt,\  ;)f(']  v/'/ntlt-ith'  ti^  \',  \jiuii<]  iUi<\  Hi<  V/'-  t:'-pt  '/wr 
f<iO»»"ir  f/'K"/  '/.f/lairtni'/  'I'-r/  'i't;)il  J;/  t}j'-  f;jJI  v/}i»-n 
I  v/;j^  »)^;})t  yr';jr,  u\<\  \  ijtt<:rr'J  r/iy  fjr^t  <>/i'J  J;j)vf  o;jt}j. 
My  f;>t|j«f  v/;)?,  tir/'^iti'/  an  ouf -'Jfy^yjr  fj-Whf,  ax  t}j«-r«:  waij 
;i'>f)'  iif)f J'  f  >}('  li'yij^'  i  l«  ■//;)?,  tioifiif^  f})'-  v/'>rk  v<-ry 
f(/'«Iy,  ;k.  }/'-  ij)v/;)y^,  'li'l,  tii-iViuv_  \\\<-  i<)it\<f>.  \t<iU<:\\y 
t^\Ui^t'  ;)»»'!  l}»^  ?j'i«-»  tAntiif\i\  .>/)'!  ^.f/iootl).  I  *y.\tifX%'A 
my  ;»'lfn)r;»fio»»,  t'ini)\ntzi/iiiv,  ,fiy  wor'J?,  wjlli  t}i<"  riam<t 
of  our  .S;iv)<>r.  My  f.)»fi«r  w^n,  ^Ijo^k'-'i  ;jnJ  ;>^k'■'J  m*; 
\\  I  'li'l  fi';l  know  f|j;j1  w;>t  ^w«;ir)n;/>  I  an^vv  r''l  trulfj- 
liilly  lli.iJ  I  'l/'l  n'>»  fJi'r'  li.xj  l>« .;,  ^o  JittI'-  of  \\  m 
odf  i\'  \v\i\,i,i\\',<,<\  »));>!  v/«-  |j;)fl  n<>t  \>t't'n  cyt-u  \:niv}\\. 
i\\,uu\  i»  My  f;>»|j»f,  fijf/iivr},  ;)f>t  ;,  \,<tn\ffA\uv,  ^ .\mvA\nu, 
li.'i'J  ;i  »r(if,.,|  v,f\)t,f  in  ft^fiifii  \t,  Mjf },  ilnnj/s.  f  fr  nrvf-r 
l'(M  i,\,f.<rii<    ^lofi'^,  ;w)'|  v/<    <li'l  n'i\   V';jlijr«-  lo  'lo  j»   jrt 


For  rt  inilr  (Utuiiul  iirt  llir  laiMiri  wcxc  all  triurd  id 
(«iul  I  ulllVrtlr*!.  Itut  i\  luilr  «M  MHMc  t«t  llu"  ca^t  tlu'ir  >SfM<' 
Vrttti  tilirlilicn  ol  iiiu  ullivalctl  IMiUllc  I  Irw-  .til  lltr 
(  rtdir  ol    (Iti     llrMHM>(>r)|(>iul   KXUUr'tl     uitl    l>il  tluiiltv^   tl>* 

rtuiuiuci       Alln   i»i"hot>l   wrts  »>ut   M   l«»ui   «»\  K>i  k    il\. 

\u\\n  «»l  llu-  Ui'l^?l\hi>>l\i>«>»l  went  III  rt  HI*>U|>  \VJtl>  W  .ill  1\. 
oui  tlo^i.  lo  l(i*|»  luMuc  llic  t  »>\V!i.  \\  c  unuall>  h.»J  ti» 
noun  [\\f  mnith  hirtHili  <>l   ihc  Kisluvrtukrr  Kivi       ll 

W'A*  i\  i\\\i\\\  ry\\(\\\\\  III   (III-   MiMillK'l    >\  llll  t>t  t  anioiial   «K-t-|t 

holrn.  In  llu'sr  ht>lrr.,  I«m  r\Ti>'  ouf  «'l  ^^^»«  K  >v<"  K.nl 
rt  Urtinc,  \\\c  hoyn  Uf«r«l  lo  »\vin>.  My  n»oll\(j  wa,-.  a 
nri\«Mis,  ait\iiMi!i  >\oniaM,  rio  Han  ami  1  \\c\c  It^iNnlilcn 
lo  \{i\  III  r>\\  in»n\iHK,  lot  Icai  w  »*  mii'lil  »Ii.>\\m  I  lii 
li'liiptalltil)  \\  ;»i  old  II  Ikii  I'.it  at  l>M  u-.  .uiJ  llicii'  W  .»■< 
llCtjUt'nl  »llr<«»lu'»lirht  «".  l»>llo\\r»l  l>\  Kwi  «>(  piiniJi 
nu'Ml  W'luMi  «|U('Atit)n('«l  alt»Mil  il.  \v«"  loKI  ili»  (mil) 
aiitl  lottk  iMii  >vliippM\^  lite  NvluppiiiuH  NMMc  not  \n\ 
rtt^VPI'*',  hut  -loimliow  \\c  »lu'a»li'»l  llu  in  luvl  t.>  »K.uli 
N.>|\vill\r>lau«liuu  f»ll  thrac*,  wx)  rvfMhi.ilU  l..un..l  li> 
n\\\\\\  :\\u\  Awe.  Sonir  ol  \\\(*  n\orit  <k  lii.lillul  li.nii-1  i<l 
iu\   »luMl»oo«l  writ'  riprnl  lu  titr  >\<ttri 

1  »rn>rmluM  \\\\\\  meat  alU.h.Mi  i,ti\ir  »>l  oiu  UmiIui-. 
C  ^u«'  Wrtti  a  n|>»nnlfi.  I  \ili.»  Autluw  •>.  whom  I  .»lM\i>->t 
irvrrril.  Anolhrj  was*  \\\\  louniu,  1  .u»  iu»la  l\o^^(M^. 
who  wrtrt  v«niMU.  hraulilul  ami  lovdv,     She  loi>k  n\u»  h 

|MI»lr"  ll\  IU\  ahllllN  to  WOlk  »>Ul  MMtplc  |Mol>hn»r«  IM  MW 
hfrtJ  \Mthoiil  -.lilr  ..I  M.I.  kl. oil, I  l\I.i\  (".o.l  1. 1.-.-, 
thfiii  all  t  ^1.  .>!  ."Ill  l,.i.hii-..  Ml  I  i.iiik  W.ui.u. 
..  .Ml.  »l  l.>  II-.  i.ilhci   at'VCi*'       I  h    w.i-.  .il-..<  .1  ..up.  III.  I 


18  The  Farmer  Bo]) 

and  had  planed  out  a  heavy  pine  ruler  which  some  of 
the  older  boys  had  felt  on  the  palms  of  their  hands. 
Some  neighboring  boys  and  myself  formed  a  conspiracy 
to  destroy  the  ruler.  One  night  we  went  nearly  two 
miles  to  the  school  house,  crawled  in  through  a  broken 
window  pane,  eight  inches  by  ten,  picked  the  lock  of 
his  desk  and  got  the  ruler.  Half  a  mile  from  the  school 
house  we  cut  it  to  pieces  and  threw  the  remnant  into  a 
field.  Mr.  Warren  was  a  good  teacher,  however,  and 
we  learned  "  to  toe  the  mark  "  under  him.  I  was  not 
a  bad  boy  in  school,  but  was  often  careless  and  thought- 
less. I  was  never  severely  punished,  though  sometimes 
made  to  stand  on  the  floor  for  half  an  hour  for  some 
improper  conduct. 

In  the  autumn  of  1852,  when  I  was  ten  years  old,  I 
remember  taking  my  first  interest  in  politics.  Dan  and 
I  raised  a  pole  twenty  feet  high  in  our  front  yard  with 
a  flag  on  it  bearing  the  names  of  Pierce  and  King  who 
were  running  for  president  and  vice-president.  The 
next  spring  my  father  moved  again  from  the  rented 
place  to  a  farm  which  had  been  bought  by  my  oldest 
brother,  Henry.  This  was  on  Loco  Prairie,  adjoin- 
ing the  farm  on  which  we  had  lived  three  years  before. 
This  farm  was  one-eighth  of  a  mile  wide  and  a  mile 
long,  running  back  across  the  Kishwaukee  River  and 
into  the  Big  Woods,  as  they  were  called.  A  mile  still 
north  of  this  was  a  wood  lot  of  thirty  or  forty  acres  be- 
longing to  the  same  farm.  On  this  farm  we  lived  in  a 
log  cabin  for  several  years.    I  look  back  to  it  more  than 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  19 

to  any  one  place  as  the  home  of  my  childhood.  TTie 
Big  Woods  across  the  river  were  not  fenced  in  and 
formed  a  free  range  for  our  cows  and  those  of  the 
neighbors  who  lived  on  the  prairie.  It  was  the  duty  of 
Dan,  Watch  and  myself  to  start  about  an  hour  before 
sunset  for  the  Big  Woods  to  bring  home  the  cows. 
We  had  the  faculty  of  turning  all  our  work  into  play. 
Thus,  if  we  had  to  weed  the  carrots  or  hoe  the  potatoes, 
we  took  the  job  in  our  imaginations  at  so  many  dollars 
a  row  and  in  this  way  became  very  wealthy.  We 
transformed  ourselves  into  western  rangers.  Dan  be- 
came Jack  Rover  and  I  was  Sam  Roger.  Our  legs 
were  the  finest  Arabian  horses  on  which  we  galloped 
and  ran  races  and  chased  the  buffaloes.  The  cows  and 
oxen  were  the  buffaloes.  A  day  of  twenty-four  hours 
was  a  year.  From  3  A.  M.  to  9  a.  M.  was  spring,  from 
9  A.  M.  to  3  P.  M.  was  summer,  from  3  P.  M.  to  9  P.  M. 
was  autumn  and  from  9  P.  M.  to  3  A.  M.  was  the  dead 
of  winter.  Each  autumn  we  went  on  a  great  buffalo 
hunt  which  was  really  going  after  the  cows.  We 
crossed  the  Missouri  River  (the  Kishwaukee  Creek), 
then  the  great  plains  (the  bottom  land  beyond)  and 
penetrated  the  Rocky  Mountains  (the  hills  and 
openings  of  the  Big  Woods).  Like  David  of 
old,  we  had  slings  of  our  own  make,  and  a  bag 
of  pebbles  at  our  side.  TTie  number  of  cows  we  hit 
with  the  pebbles  were  the  buffaloes  we  slew  each 
autumn  and  we  often  surpassed  the  feats  of  Buffalo 
BilL     It  wis  not  always  easy  to  find  the  cows,  and  it 


20  The  Farmer  Boy 

was  often  after  dark  before  we  arrived  home.  We 
knew  every  cow-path  in  the  woods  for  a  mile  or  more, 
and  being  the  bold  rangers  that  we  were,  we  were  never 
afraid.  My  mother,  however,  used  sometimes  to  be- 
come very  anxious,  especially  when  the  river  was  in 
flood,  so  we  had  to  cross  in  a  boat. 

My  older  brothers  with  Dan  and  myself  had  formed 
a  boat  company,  each  taking  shares  which  were  a 
dollar  apiece.  With  this  we  bought  the  lumber,  nails 
and  pitch,  and  Henry  and  Orson  built  a  very  plain 
scow.  To  this  we  gave  the  name  of  the  Kishwaukee 
Schooner.  V/e  had  great  times  navigating  the  river 
and  its  branches.  We  often  used  the  boat  in  fishing 
with  a  net,  which  also  belonged  to  a  stock  company. 
Sometimes  strange  hunters  would  come  along,  take  our 
boat  and  run  it  two  or  three  miles  down  the  river  and 
leave  it  there.  Then  we  made  up  exploring  parties 
and  hunted  the  stream  through  brush  and  swamps  to 
find  it.  Generally  we  had  to  bring  it  back  in  a  wagon. 
There  used  to  be  plenty  of  fish  called  bull-heads  in 
the  deeper  holes  of  the  river.  These  we  caught  at 
night  in  the  following  manner.  We  would  dig  a 
large  number  of  angle  worms  and  string  these  on  a 
strong  linen  thread  a  yard  long.  Then  we  would  fold 
the  string  up  to  about  three  inches  in  length.  Around 
the  middle  of  this  bunch  we  would  tie  a  strong  cord  and 
four  inches  from  the  worms  tie  the  cord  to  a  long  stick. 
Anchoring  our  boat  in  a  place  where  the  water  was  six 
or  eight  feet  deep,  we  would  let  the  stick  down  to  the 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  21 

bottom  and  then  raise  it  three  or  four  inches.  The 
bull-heads  would  bite  into  the  bunch  of  worms  and 
their  hooked  teeth  become  entangled  in  the  threads. 
Feeling  the  stick  wiggle,  we  would  raise  it  quickly  to 
the  surface,  hold  the  bob,  as  we  called  it,  over  the  boat, 
and  the  fish  would  soon  drop  off.  One  night  we  caught 
a  hundred  in  about  an  hour.  Hot  water  dashed  over 
these  would  cause  the  skins  to  slough  off  and  my  mother, 
who  was  an  excellent  cook,  would  prepare  them  as  a 
feast  for  breakfast. 

This  leads  me  to  speak  of  our  plain  living  and  pov- 
erty. During  these  years,  it  was  only  with  the  greatest 
labor  and  economy  that  we  were  able  to  feed  and  clothe 
the  family.  The  older  brothers  taught  singing  school 
each  winter  and  with  these  earnings  made  payments  on 
the  farms  they  had  bought.  Henry  played  the  violin 
and  Orson  the  accordion  and  melodion,  so  they  could 
lead  their  singing  school  with  instrumental  music  as 
well  as  with  their  voices.  The  rough  work  of  the  farm 
made  their  fingers  rather  stiff  for  playing,  so  a  couple 
of  months  in  the  autumn  before  they  started  their 
schools,  they  would  practice  each  evening  at  home. 
The  neighbors  would  sometimes  gather  around  to  hear 
the  practice. 

From  our  earliest  years  we  were  taught  to  save  our 
pennies  and  small  earnings.  I  do  not  remember  ever 
buying  a  stick  of  candy  with  my  own  money.  Our 
mother  was  our  banker  and  kept  carefully  our  savings 
in  a  special  purse  in  a  special  chest.     When  we  had 


22  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

thus  gathered  enough,  Dan  and  I  would  go  in  com- 
pany and  buy  a  calf  and  let  it  run  with  the  other  cattle. 
It  was  only  the  penny  earnings  for  little  jobs  that  were 
our  own.  When  we  worked  out  regularly  for  the 
neighbors  the  earnings  went  to  buy  our  clothing  or  to 
pay  the  family  debts.  With  our  small  earnings  and 
investments  I  had  saved  up  thirty-four  dollars  by  the 
time  I  was  eighteen  years  old.  For  us  that  was  a  large 
amount  of  money,  and  this  sum  enabled  me  later  to 
pay  my  fare  to  Vermont  and  start  my  school  life  with 
seven  dollars  in  my  pocket. 

During  these  years  we  always  went  barefoot  in  the 
summer  and  until  quite  late  in  the  fall,  so  that  one  pair 
of  boots  would  last  us  through  the  venter.  In  the  lat- 
ter part  of  October,  when  the  nights  were  frosty,  our 
feet  and  ankles  used  to  become  blue  with  cold  when 
going  for  the  cows  in  the  evening.  Although  we  still 
kept  and  worked  oxen,  my  older  brothers  had  horses, 
so  we  sometimes  went  for  the  cows  on  horseback  and 
became  expert  bareback  riders.  We  often  rode  the 
oxen,  too,  or  one  of  the  cows  when  bringing  them 
home. 

When  I  was  about  thirteen,  a  man  came  through 
our  part  of  the  country  teaching  geography  by  singing. 
The  countries,  rivers,  lakes,  etc.,  were  set  to  chants  or 
familiar  tunes.  Either  he  or  one  of  the  pupils  would 
point  out  on  a  large  map  the  names  as  they  came  in 
the  song.  He  had  an  evening  class  in  each  of  the 
country  school  houses  for  miles  around.    At  the  end  of 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  23 

the  winter  he  brought  them  all  together  for  a  final  ex- 
hibition. It  is  one  of  the  triumphs  of  mj'^  life  that  on 
this  occasion  he  had  me  start  the  tunes,  point  the  places 
and  lead  the  exercises  as  his  most  accomplished  pupil. 
In  a  similar  way  each  country  school  district  had  its 
weekly  spelling  school  in  the  evening  and  occasionally 
a  tournament,  or  spelling  match,  between  two  districts. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  spell  the  school  down  part 
of  the  time,  but  often  some  bright  girl  would  spell  me 
down.  I  have  often  wished  in  late  years  that  I  could 
spell  as  well  as  I  could  when  I  was  eighteen.  We  also 
had  debating  societies  at  the  school  house  on  winter 
evenings.  I  must  have  been  about  twelve  years  old 
when  I  first  took  part  in  these.  When  I  was  fourteen, 
I  made  my  first  and  last  political  speech.  It  was  when 
Buchanan  and  Fremont  were  candidates  for  president. 
I  had  read  an  article  in  a  book  called  "  The  Great 
West,"  on  the  Missouri  Compromise.  My  oldest 
brother  was  a  staunch  democrat  and  persuaded  me  to 
deliver  a  speech  on  the  Missouri  Compromise,  giving  it 
a  democratic  bias.  The  family  assembled  in  the  parlor 
of  his  new  house,  and  I  delivered  my  address.  I  only 
remember  that  I  was  very  much  dissatisfied  with  myself, 
and  never  attempted  it  again. 

Our  favorite  sport  in  the  winter  was  snow-ball  fights 
and  building  of  snow  forts.  Our  school  house  was  on 
the  prairie  and  the  wind  drove  the  snow  into  great  drifts 
along  the  fences.  Our  forts  were  sometimes  dug  into 
the  snow  drifts  and  sometimes  we  cut  large  blocks  of 


24  The  Farmer  Boy 

crusted  snow  with  wooden  saws  and  built  them  high, 
and  again  we  would  wall  in  a  corner  of  the  rail  fence. 
All  the  boys  who  came  from  the  north  and  west  were 
combined  against  the  boys  who  came  from  the  south 
and  east  of  the  school.     Sometimes  we  fought  so  furi- 
ously and  in  dead  earnest  that  the  teacher  had  to  inter- 
fere.    Another  fine  game  was  "  I   spy,"   played  on 
moonlight  evenings  around  the  great  straw  stacks.    We 
would  lean  a  large  stick  against  the  stack  and  one 
would  blind  and  count  a  certain  number  while  the 
others  ran  away  and  hid.    Then  he  would  find  the  boys, 
calling  out,  "  I  spy  John  James  and  touch  the  goal  be- 
fore him."     If  one  could  get  to  the  goal  before  him, 
he  threw  it  down,  and  all  who  had  been  found  before 
him  could  run  out  and  hide  again.    The  cattle,  in  feed- 
ing, dug  deep  holes  in  the  straw  stacks,  which  made 
fine  places  for  hiding.     The  bright  moon,  the  crisp, 
frosty  air  and  the  keen  rivalry  all  combined  to  enhance 
the  joy  of  the  game.     Sometimes  we  had  husking-bees 
on  winter  evenings,  when  both  the  boys  and  girls  came. 
These  generally  ended  up  with  a  feast  on  pop  corn  and 
pumpkin  pie.     The  older  and  braver  boys  would  see 
the  girls  home   from  these   gatherings   and   from   the 
spelling  schools.     At  the  age  of  twelve  I  was  deep  in 
love  with  the  brightest  and  to  me  the  prettiest  girl  in 
the  school.     She  was  just  my  age  and  was  earnestly 
religious.    Her  name  was  Betsey  Ann  Gardner  and  my 
love  was  as  pure  and  chivalric  as  love  can  be.     It  was 
for  her  that  I  fought  my  first  real  fight  as  related  above. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  25 

In  the  summer  time  the  boys  far  and  near  came  to- 
gether, when  possible,  on  Saturday  evening  for  a  great 
swim  in  the  Kishwaukee  River.  There  were  some  deep 
holes  on  my  brother's  farm,  which  made  fine  places  for 
swimming.  My  forte  was  to  swim  the  farthest  with 
the  fewest  strokes  and  to  beat  the  others  in  ducking 
each  other  in  deep  water.  One  time  I  held  my  big 
brother  Orson  under  water  till  he  strangled  and  I 
feared  he  would  drown.  We  also  had  great  contests 
in  splashing  water  on  each  other  till  one  gave  up. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FARM    LIFE. 

A  LL  these  years  we  had  to  work  hard  on  the 
^~^  farm  eight  months  of  the  year,  going  to  school  in 
the  winter  as  soon  as  the  corn  was  husked.  We  usually 
had  chapped  hands  and  cold  fingers  before  the  fall 
work  was  done.  My  last  work  of  the  kind  was  gather- 
ing up  small  piles  of  husked  corn  from  the  ground  out 
of  the  snow  with  my  bare  hands.  I  early  became  quite 
an  expert  in  dropping  corn  for  planting.  I  had  to  drop 
the  corn  in  hills,  four  kernels  at  a  time  from  a  tin  pail 
hung  by  a  string  from  my  neck.  I  was  able  to  drop  a 
row  of  corn  with  each  hand  as  fast  as  two  men  could 
cover  it  behind  me.    That  was  an  unusual  accomplish- 


26  The  Farmer  Boy 

ment.  I  was  always  small  of  my  age,  but  very  quick 
and  nimble.  Another  kind  of  work  in  which  I  had 
special  skill  was  stacking  hay  and  grain.  My  father, 
who  was  thoughtful  and  scientific  in  his  work,  had 
taught  me  to  keep  the  stack  full  and  hard  in  the  center, 
and  I  acquired  such  skill  in  it  that  the  rain  never  wet 
into  my  stacks.  The  neighbors  used  to  exchange  work 
with  us  in  order  to  have  me  do  their  stacking.  At  fif- 
teen I  could  bind  grain  after  the  reaper  as  fast  as  the 
men  and  earn  a  man's  wages.  I  could  rake  and  bind 
and  keep  up  with  a  cradler,  which  was  considered  a 
difficult  task. 

These  little  triumphs  fanned  the  ambition  of  a  heart 
naturally  aspiring  and  proud.  I  was  not  contented 
with  my  lot  as  a  farmer  boy,  and  longed  for  an  educa- 
tion. It  was  in  these  days  that  I  formed  the  definite 
ambition  to  become  a  statesman — a  United  States  sen- 
ator. I  remember  coming  in  from  plowing  one  day, 
my  eyes  red  and  my  face  covered  with  dust  and  white 
streaks  down  my  cheeks.  My  mother  asked  me  what 
I  had  been  crying  about.  I  told  her  it  was  because  I 
could  not  get  an  education  and  become  a  great  man. 
Still,  for  the  most  part,  I  was  brave  and  confident  that 
the  opportunity  would  come.  With  this  ambition,  I 
became  almost  a  miser  in  saving  money  for  the  time 
when  I  could  go  away  to  school. 

An  incident  occurred  one  spring  which  was  not  so 
creditable  to  my  intelligence.  Dan  and  I  were  sent  to 
cut  down  willows  in  the  meadow.     The  long,  dry 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  27 

grass  among  the  willows  was  bothersome,  and  we 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  scheme  to  burn  it  out.  We 
lighted  the  grass,  but  the  first  we  knew  it  had  spread 
into  the  meadow  and  was  beyond  our  control.  I  ran 
frightened  and  crying  to  my  father,  w4io  was  plowing 
in  a  neighboring  field.  He  came  in  haste  and  fought 
the  fire,  but  it  was  not  subdued  until  it  had  burned 
over  many  acres  in  our  own  and  neighbor's  meadow 
and  some  of  the  fence  between.  Our  father  did  not 
punish  us,  but  explained  how  by  back-firing  along  a 
road  in  the  neighbor's  meadow  he  stopped  the  fire.  We 
learned  more  than  one  lesson  that  day. 

Dan  and  I  began  to  hunt  with  a  real  gun  the  spring 
that  I  was  ten  years  old.  There  was  an  old,  single- 
barrel  shot  gun  in  the  family,  the  barrel  of  which  was 
four  feet  long.  It  was  so  long  and  heavy  that  I  could 
not  hold  it  out  or  shoot  without  a  rest.  One  of  the 
older  brothers,  probably  Orson,  showed  us  how  to  load 
it.  We  started  out,  Dan  carrying  the  front  end  and 
I  the  butt.  We  soon  spied  a  small  bird,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  rest  the  gun  on.  Dan  ojffered  his  shoulder, 
but  that  was  too  high.  He  then  bent  over  and  I  rested 
the  gun  across  his  back  and  fired  away.  The  butt  of 
the  gun  hit  my  shoulder  pretty  hard,  but  the  shot  hit 
nothing.  We  reloaded  and  I  was  putting  on  the  per- 
cussion cap,  the  butt  of  the  gun  against  my  stomach  and 
the  distant  muzzle  on  the  ground.  In  letting  down  the 
hammer,  my  thumb  slipped  and  off  went  the  gun, 
blowing  a  hole  in  the  ground  near  where  Dan  stood. 


28  Tlw  Farmer  Bo}) 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise  and  fear.  We  re- 
covered and  went  on  our  way,  arriving  safely  at  home. 
From  that  time  we  frequently  went  hunting  and  often 
brought  in  wild  ducks  and  other  game.  Later  on  we 
used  to  hunt  coons  at  night  in  the  fall  of  the  year. 
Two  cousins,  Virto  and  Charles  Rogers,  used  often  to 
go  with  us.  When  the  October  moon  was  full,  we 
would  start  about  ten  o'clock  with  our  old  dog,  Watch. 
There  were  some  cornfields  between  the  Big  Woods 
and  the  river.  We  knew  that  the  coons  would  stop 
in  these  on  their  way  from  the  woods  to  the  river.  The 
dog  would  take  the  fresh  tracks  of  the  coon  and  gen- 
erally overtake  the  coon  before  he  could  reach  a  tree. 
Then  followed  a  furious  fight,  which  sometimes  lasted 
twenty  minutes.  Whenever  the  dog  made  a  dash,  the 
coon  would  rise  on  its  hind  feet  like  a  bear,  open  its 
fore  paws  to  scratch  and  its  mouth  to  bite,  emitting  at 
the  same  time  a  gruff  noise  between  a  growl  and  the 
spitting  of  a  cat.  We  could  do  little  to  help  the  dog, 
but  the  excitement  was  intense  until  the  coon  was  over- 
come. We  rarely  failed  to  bring  one  or  two  home. 
One  night,  while  crossing  the  river,  the  dog  got  some- 
thing up  a  tree  which  we  supposed  was  a  coon.  Two 
of  the  party  went  back  to  the  house  for  a  gun  while 
the  other  two  and  the  dog  watched  by  the  tree.  When 
they  returned,  Virto  took  the  gun,  and  getting  the  ob- 
ject between  him  and  the  moon,  took  the  best  aim  he 
could  and  fired.  Down  came  something  end  over  end 
which  Virto  declared  was  a  bear.     It  proved  to  be  a 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  29 

bob-cat,  or  lynx,  which  weighed  twenty-eight  pounds. 
Fortunately  the  fine  shot  struck  it  between  the  eyes  and 
it  fell  dead,  otherwise  it  might  have  given  us  serious 
trouble. 

Our  father  had  explained  to  us  what  banks  and 
banking  were,  probably  in  answer  to  some  question 
about  paper  money.  Thereupon  Dan  and  I  each 
started  a  pin  bank,  using  pins  for  specie.  With  these 
we  redeemed  the  five,  ten  and  fifty  pin  bills  which  our 
banks  issued.  With  us,  and  to  some  extent  with  our 
older  brothers,  these  pin  bills  became  the  currency  for 
all  minor  transactions.  Our  parents  so  far  humored 
us  in  this  that  mother  enabled  us  to  get  the  pins  and 
father  made  a  nice  wooden  bank  vault  for  Dan.  His 
was  called  the  Putnam  Bank  and  mine  the  Seneca 
Bank.  To  some  extent,  our  paper  money  became  cur- 
rent among  our  schoolmates  and  pin  lotteries  were 
sometimes  drawn. 

The  fourth  of  July  was  the  great  day  of  the  year 
with  us.  We  rarely  went  to  town  to  celebrate  it,  but 
devised  our  own  amusements  in  the  country.  For 
months  we  saved  our  pennies  and  invested  the  money 
in  gun-powder.  We  had  a  little  cannon  made  of  a 
piece  of  old  gun  barrel,  with  a  wooden  plug  in  one  end. 
We  would  build  forts  out  of  chips  and  sticks  and  then 
set  up  other  sticks  behind  the  fort  for  soldiers.  Plant- 
ing our  cannon  in  front,  we  would  load  it  with  gravel 
stones  which  we  called  grape-shot  and  batter  down  the 
fort  and  soldiers.     One  fourth  of  July  we  joined  with 


30  The  Farmer  Boy 

some  neighboring  boys  and  went  to  an  old,  deserted 
brick-yard  in  the  woods  two  miles  away.  We  hitched 
up  our  old  dog,  Watch,  in  a  harness  and  cart  we  had 
made  for  him,  put  our  dinner,  fire-crackers  and  little 
cannon  in  the  cart  and  away  we  went.  In  the  brick- 
yard were  some  pools  of  water.  On  these  we  launched 
chips  for  men  of  war,  then  sunk  them  with  our  cannon 
from  a  fort  on  the  shore.  While  we  had  very  little 
money  to  spend  on  amusements,  we  managed  by  our 
ingenuity  to  have  a  better  time  than  most  other  boys 
who  had  more  money. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year,  Dan  and  I  had  to  leave 
the  school  early  in  March  to  "  get  up  "  stove  wood  for 
the  summer.  Our  wood  lot  was  two  miles  north  of  our 
home  and  across  the  river.  Taking  our  axes  and  our 
dinners  we  would  start  in  the  early  morning  and  plod 
through  snow  and  mud  to  our  work.  At  noon  we 
would  build  a  little  fire,  thaw  out  our  dinner  and  eat 
it  with  a  relish  known  only  to  a  hard-worked,  growing 
boy.  One  day  we  resolved  to  chop  up  a  certain  tree 
before  quitting  work,  which  took  us  until  after  sunset. 
We  then  started  for  home,  but  it  soon  became  dark. 
The  river  was  in  flood  and  had  overflown  the  bottom 
land  so  we  had  to  cross  in  a  boat.  On  the  farther  bank 
we  were  surprised  to  meet  our  father,  who  had  come 
to  look  for  us.  Our  mother  had  become  greatly 
alarmed  and  felt  sure  we  were  drowned  in  the  flood. 

When  I  was  about  seventeen,  Dan  and  I  conceived 
the  idea  of  earning  some  money  by  trapping.     About 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  31 

a  dozen  old  steel  traps  had  been  left  by  my  grand- 
father Rogers  to  brother  Henry  and  we  had  the  use  of 
them.  The  days  were  getting  short  in  the  fall  and  the 
work  on  the  farm  was  pressing.  But  by  rising  an  hour 
earlier  in  the  morning  Dan  could  do  all  the  chores  al- 
lotted to  us  both  and  I  could  visit  the  traps  before 
breakfast.  I  fear  the  first  setting  of  the  traps,  selecting 
the  places  and  changing  them  were  attended  to  on 
Sundays.  We  had  planned  for  this  enterprise  some 
months  ahead  and  built  a  canoe  suited  to  go  rapidly 
Mp  and  down  the  stream.  We  had  found  near  the  river 
two  long,  narrow  pine  planks,  which  had  floated  down 
from  some  bridge  above  in  the  floods.  These  we 
dowelled  together  with  wooden  pins  and  fastened  with 
cross  cleats.  We  then  hewed  off  the  edges  to  a  point 
at  both  ends.  We  bought  three  long  clapboards,  or 
siding,  which  were  then  made  half  an  inch  thick  and 
six  inches  wide.  Two  of  these  we  nailed  to  the  edges 
of  the  plank  bottom.  As  the  planks  were  two  inches 
thick,  the  boat  would  thus  he  only  four  inches  deep 
inside — so  shallow  that  it  would  surely  dip  water  when 
the  canoe  tipped,  or  rocked.  By  ripping  the  third  piece 
of  siding  lengthwise  and  riveting  these  to  the  upper 
edges  of  the  low  sides,  we  increased  the  depth  of  the 
boat  nearly  three  mches.  We  then  made  a  long  pad- 
dle with  a  blade  at  each  end  for  propelling  it  as  we 
had  read  the  Esquimaux  did.  The  heavy  bottom  kept 
the  canoe  quite  steady  and  it  ran  swiftly  through  the 
water.  I  managed  to  get  to  the  first  trap  in  the  morning 


32  The  Farmer  Bo\) 

as  soon  as  it  was  light  enough  to  see,  going  rapidly 
from  the  upper  trap  down  stream  one  morning,  leave 
the  canoe  there  and  the  next  morning  going  from  the 
lower  trap  up  the  stream.  While  the  others  were 
taking  their  "  nooning,"  that  is,  the  customary  hour's 
rest  at  dinner  time,  Dan  and  I  skinned  our  catch  and 
stretched  the  skins  on  boards  to  dry.  That  fall  we 
caught  eighty  muskrats,  three  minks  and  a  coon.  The 
muskrat  skins  brought  us  twelve  and  a  half  cents  each 
and  the  other  skins  more. 

We  all  inherited  from  our  parent's  mechanical  inge- 
nuity so  we  could  make  our  own  carts,  boats  and  other 
playthings.  We  made  cross-bows  which  would  shoot 
so  accurately  that  we  used  them  after  the  manner  of 
William  Tell  to  shoot  small,  round  squashes,  the  size 
of  an  apple,  from  each  other's  heads.  We  also  made 
large  squirt-guns  which  we  played  were  fire  engines 
with  which  we  extinguished  small  fires  we  lighted  for 
the  purpose. 

We  had  almost  no  religious  privileges.  The  nearest 
church  was  three  miles  away  which  was  rather  far  to 
walk  after  working  hard  in  the  fields  all  the  week.  Oc- 
casionally some  roving  preacher,  or  circuit  rider,  would 
preach  in  our  school  house  and  such  services  we  usually 
attended.  In  the  winter  and  spring  of  1857,  when  I 
was  fifteen,  a  remarkable  revival  of  religion  swept  over 
all  the  western  states.  Excited  meetings  were  held  in 
all  the  churches  every  night  for  three  months.  Every- 
body seemed  to  attend  and  thousands  were  converted. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  33 

My  two  older  sisters,  Dan  and  I  went  when  we  could 
have  the  team  or  ride  with  the  neighbors.  We  all  be- 
came "  converted,"  or  '*  experienced  religion,"  as  it  was 
called  in  the  Methodist  Church.  My  sisters  joined  the 
church,  but  Dan  and  I  were  so  young  that  our  father 
bid  us  wait.  I  remember  how  earnest  and  happy  I 
was  for  a  while  and  how,  after  the  meetings  were  over 
and  the  hard  work  on  the  farm  came  on,  the  interest 
died  away,  and  the  prayer  meetings  became  duller  and 
duller.  We  said  our  prayers  and  tried  to  be  pious,  but 
were  never  looked  after  by  the  minister  or  class-leader. 
After  a  year  or  two.  Spiritualist  lecturers  came  along 
preaching  infidelity  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  became  a 
downright  atheist,  or  as  nearly  so  as  one  so  young  and 
ignorant  could  be.  I  remained  in  that  condition  spir- 
itually for  about  three  years  and  in  my  conceit  could 
confound  the  simple  religious  people  with  the  arguments 
which  the  Spiritualists  had  drawn  from  Tom  Paine 
and  others. 


CHAPTER  V. 

POLITICAL    ASPIRATIONS. 

TN  the  autumn  of  I860  came  the  memorable  presi- 
*  dential  election  when  Lincoln,  Douglas  and 
Breckenridge  were  candidates.  Companies  of  a  semi- 
military  character,  called  Wide-Awakes,  were  formed 


34  The  Farmer  Boy 

by  the  Republicans  and  we  had  never  known  such  po- 
litical excitement.  Our  own  family  was  divided.  My 
father  had  always  been  a  Democrat,  but  bolted  from 
that  party  when  the  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill  was  passed 
by  Congress.  Brother  Orson  also  was  a  Republican, 
but  Henry  and  myself  were  still  Democrats.  I  had 
heard  Stephen  A.  Douglas  speak  two  years  before  and 
was  enthusiastic  for  the  Little  Giant,  as  he  was  called. 
I  remember  shedding  tears  when  the  news  came  that 
Lincoln  was  elected.  Four  years  later,  during  the 
Civil  War,  I  cast  my  first  vote  for  Lincoln's  reelection. 
But  great  events  and  changes  had  come  to  the  country 
and  myself.  While  in  college,  my  studies  in  political 
economy  led  me  to  believe  in  a  protective  tariff  as  the 
best  policy  for  a  young  country  hke  ours  with  manu- 
factories only  partially  developed.  Though  largely 
an  independent  in  politics  all  my  life,  I  have  generally 
voted  the  Republican  ticket  at  national  elections. 

I  spoke  above  of  my  military  spirit  and  aspirations 
when  I  was  eight  years  old.  As  years  of  peace  passed 
by  and  I  never  saw  a  soldier  or  a  uniform  to  feed  my 
aspirations  in  that  direction  and  as  I  began  to  read 
poHtical  newspapers  and  the  proceedings  of  Congress, 
my  ambition  took  a  turn  toward  a  political  life.  The 
brilliant  and  unprecedented  career  of  Stephen  A. 
Douglas,  senator  from  our  state,  captivated  my  imagi- 
nation. I  was  never  so  wild  as  to  dream  of  being 
president  of  the  United  States,  but  thought  possibly  I 
might  become  a  senator  and  make  speeches  in  Congress. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  35 

These  aspirations  fired  my  energy  and  led  me  on  until 
after  I  graduated  from  college.  With  that  career  in 
view,  I  took  great  interest  in  declamation  and  oratory 
and  took  an  active  part  in  ail  debating  societies.  I 
afterwards  organized  one  in  high  school  and  an  extra 
one  in  college.  As  most  statesmen  were  also  lawyers, 
I  planned  to  make  that  profession  a  stepping  stone  to 
greater  things. 

The  school  in  our  country  district  was  sometimes 
fairly  good,  but  quite  as  often  miserably  poor,  accord- 
ing to  the  teacher  we  happened  to  have.  From  the 
time  I  was  ten  years  old  I  had  to  stay  out  of  school 
summers  to  work  on  the  farm.  I  attended  the  winter 
school  about  three  and  a  half  months  each  year.  One 
winter  when  about  sixteen  I  walked  three  miles  to 
an  academy  at  Marengo,  taught  by  the  Presbyterian 
minister.  I  made  good  progress  that  winter.  By  the 
time  I  reached  my  eighteenth  birthday,  April,  1860,  I 
had  learned  to  read,  write  and  spell,  and  had  a  fairly 
good  knowledge  of  geography  and  arithmetic.  I  had 
tried  to  learn  something  of  algebra  from  our  last 
teacher,  who  knew  little  or  nothing  about  it. 

The  summer  of  1 860  was  my  last  one  on  the  farm. 
Three  years  before  that  my  Uncle  George  Graves  and 
his  wife,  from  Rutland,  Vermont,  had  visited  us.  My 
father  had  told  him  how  anxious  I  was  to  get  an  educa- 
tion and  had  probably  commended  my  natural  ability. 
At  all  events  he  offered  if  I  would  come  to  them  to  let 
me  live  in  their  family  and  attend  the  fine  school  at 


36  The  Farmer  Boy 

Rutland  for  a  year.  His  son,  Cousin  Charles  Graves, 
had  previously  promised  that  when  I  was  ready  I 
might  study  law  in  his  office.  Hie  two  offers  seemed 
to  open  the  way  for  me  to  realize  the  great  dream  of 
my  life.  My  father  told  my  uncle  that  he  could  not 
spare  me  yet,  as  there  were  debts  contracted  some 
years  before  which  had  not  been  paid,  but  that  when 
they  were  cleared  off  I  might  go.  In  that  hope  I  lived 
and  toiled  on  for  the  next  three  years.  My  brother 
Daniel  entered  into  my  hopes  and  aspirations  most 
heartily.  We  planned  and  toiled  and  saved  together 
to  pay  those  debts  and  hardly  a  day  passed  that  we 
did  not  talk  of  the  coming  day  of  freedom.  We  paid 
off  one  of  the  debts  due  to  a  store-keeper  by  cutting 
broom-corn  for  him  at  seventy-five  cents  a  day.  We 
had  to  walk  three  miles  to  the  work  and  be  there  at 
seven  o'clock,  carrying  a  cold  lunch  for  dinner  and 
walking  home  after  sunset.  A  month  or  more  of  this 
work  paid  that  debt.  We  estimated  that  the  crop  of 
the  third  year,  1860,  when  sold  would  pay  the  re- 
maining debts,  so  we  began  to  make  plans  and  prepara- 
tions for  my  long-looked-for  departure  from  home.  It 
was  late  in  December  before  the  corn  was  all  gathered 
in.  My  mother  was  busy  making  me  a  new  suit  of 
clothes.  I  sold  my  interest  in  a  cow  and  some  young 
stock  to  my  brother  and  sister  and  got  together  about 
thirty-four  dollars  from  my  many  years'  savings.  This 
was  in  bills  on  western  banks,  called  wild-cat  banks. 
The  bills  would  be  taken  for  my  railroad  ticket,  but 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  37 

would  not  pass  current  in  the  east.  1  had  to  pay  fif- 
teen per  cent  exchange  for  the  seven  dollars  in  silver 
which  I  would  have  left  after  paying  for  my  ticket. 
Those  seven  dollars  bought  my  books  and  all  other 
necessaries  until  the  next  summer  vacation,  when  I 
was  able  to  earn  something  more. 

Some  home-made  socks  and  a  few  other  things  were 
packed  in  a  small,  oil-cloth  satchel  with  lunch  to  last 
two  or  three  days.  On  the  last  day  of  the  year  the 
horse  was  hitched  to  the  home-made  pung,  or  sleigh, 
and  Brother  Dan  drove  me  to  the  station.  It  nearly 
broke  my  heart  to  say  good-bye  to  the  dear  ones  at 
home  whom  I  had  never  left  for  any  length  of  time 
before.  Both  Dan  and  I  wept  all  the  way  to  the  sta- 
tion. The  man  who  sold  me  my  ticket  asked  if  I  were 
sick,  remarking  that  I  looked  very  pale.  No  doubt  my 
eyes  were  very  red.  The  train  soon  came  along  and 
the  last  tie  was  broken.  A  thousand  miles  were  soon 
between  me  and  my  home.  It  was  three  and  a  half 
years  before  I  saw  any  of  my  own  family  again. 

On  the  train  which  bore  me  from  home  I  sat  beside 
an  intelligent  man  whose  observations  were  interesting 
to  me.  He  told  me  that  I  had  always  lived  on  a  farm.  I 
asked  him  how  he  knew  that?  He  answered  that  he 
knew  it  from  the  shape  of  my  hand — that  my  fingers 
were  thick  and  strong.  He  called  my  attention  to  a 
young  man  in  a  seat  ahead  of  us  who  was  reading  a 
book  and  bid  me  observe  how  slim  and  tapering  his 
fingers  were.    He  said  that  such  fingers  were  very  good 


38  The  Farmer  Bo}) 

for  thumbing  a  dictionary,  but  were  of  little  use  for 
tuch  work  as  I  had  been  doing. 

I  arrived  in  Chicago  about  noon  and  as  my  train  for 
the  east  did  not  leave  until  toward  evening,  I  left  my 
fatchel  under  a  seat  in  the  station  and  wandered  about 
the  great  city.  I  had  learned  so  much  about  it  from 
the  neighbors  who  had  been  there  that  I  was  not  much 
surprised  at  what  I  saw.  On  the  train  I  remember  re- 
maining awake  most  of  the  night  to  see  all  I  could  of  the 
country  through  which  we  passed.  It  was  mostly  cov- 
ered with  snow,  but  I  recall  the  great  apple  orchards 
of  Michigan.  The  second  night  I  slept  in  my  seat. 
There  were  no  sleeping  cars  in  those  days  and  I  should 
not  have  spent  my  money  for  a  berth  if  there  had  been. 
It  was  many  years  after  that  before  I  could  afford  the 
luxury  of  a  sleeping  car.  In  the  forenoon  of  the  third 
day  we  entered  the  mountains  of  Vermont.  My  heart 
swelled  within  me  as  I  saw  the  great,  snow-clad  hills 
rising  up  on  either  side.  I  had  not  seen  a  mountain 
before  since  my  earliest  childhood,  but  I  soon  grew  to 
admire  and  love  themo 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SCHOOL  DAYS  IN  RUTLAND. 

A/[  Y  Uncle  George  and  Cousin  Charles  happened 

to  be  at  the  station  when  I  arrived  and  took  me 

at  once  to  their  home.      I  was  given  a  nice  room  to 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  39. 

myself  and  had  around  me  luxuries  of  which  I  had 
never  dreamt.  I  entered  the  public  high  school  after 
what  was  to  me  a  tedious  and  difTicult  examination.  I 
think  I  must  have  been  taken  in  as  a  special  favor,  for 
I  do  not  believe  I  answered  correctly  half  the  questions, 
so  rusty  was  I  in  my  studies  and  so  bewildered  by  my 
new  surroundings.  My  Uncle  had  a  horse  and  cow 
whose  care  was  committed  to  me,  and  I  had  the  wood 
to  bring  in  from  the  woodshed.  I  gathered  up  all  the 
tools  scattered  about  the  place  and  had  a  special  place 
for  each.  My  Uncle  soon  discovered  this  and  was 
mightily  pleased. 

My  Uncle's  family  consisted  of  a  wife,  three  sons 
and  two  daughters.  The  sons  were  married  and  had 
homes  of  their  own.  The  two  daughters,  Emily  and 
Lucy,  were  at  home.  Emily  was  several  years  older 
than  myself  and  Lucy  was  a  year  younger.  Both  were 
highly  educated.  Hiey  were  very  helpful  to  me  in  my 
studies,  correcting  my  ungrammatical  expressions  and 
were  lovely  to  me  in  every  way.  My  aunt  was  a  mod- 
est, retiring  woman  of  much  natural  refinement.  All 
were  earnest  communicants  of  the  Episcopal  Church 
and  every  morning  they  had  family  prayers.  As  my 
western  roughness  and  rural  habits  wore  of5F,  I  fitted  in 
perfectly  to  the  family  and  came  to  love  them  all.  I 
believe  in  turn  I  was  loved  by  them  as  the  nearest 
of  kin.  It  became  equally  dear  to  me  as  my  western 
home  and  I  often  returned  to  it  in  later  years  with  the 
greatest  joy. 


40  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

I  settled  down  to  my  studies  with  great  zeal  and 
was  soon  at  the  head  of  most  of  my  classes,  but  that 
did  not  satisfy  me.  I  was  far  behind  others  of  my  age. 
From  my  cousins  and  the  older  boys  in  school  I  learned 
about  a  college  career  and  became  fired  with  the  de- 
sire to  go  through  college.  To  prepare  for  college  re- 
quired in  the  regular  course  four  years  of  Latin,  two 
of  Greek  and  one  of  algebra,  and  I  knew  practically 
nothing  of  any  of  them.  Four  more  years  in  school 
from  the  next  fall  and  four  years  in  college  seemed  to 
me  then  an  endless  period  and  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  such  delay.  It  was  now  at  the  beginning  of 
the  spring  term  of  school,  and  I  was  nineteen  years  old. 
I  asked  my  Cousin  Charles  to  help  me  in  Latin,  which 
he  gladly  did.  I  studied  it  nights  and  Saturdays  and  in 
one  month  I  was  reciting  with  the  class  which  began 
it  the  fall  before.  As  the  end  of  the  term  drew  near, 
the  class  in  primary  algebra  was  to  review  the  whole 
book  in  three  weeks,  preparatory  to  examination.  I 
begged  the  Principal  to  let  me  go  through  it  with 
them.  This  was  about  the  most  difficult  thing  I  ever 
undertook.  Cousin  Lucy  kindly  helped  me.  I  studied 
nearly  every  night  till  midnight  and  went  to  bed  weep- 
ing over  my  difficulties.  I  had  to  skip  many  of  the 
examples  for  lack  of  time  to  solve  them,  but  in  some 
way  I  scratched  through  the  examination  at  the  end. 
The  following  extract  from  a  letter  written  home  at 
that  time  will  show  the  struggle  through  which  I 
passed : 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  41' 

"  Rutland.  Vt.,  June  9th,  1861. 

"  Beloved  Friends: 

"  When  I  wrote  you  last  I  was  about  to  begin  alge- 
bra with  high  hopes  of  going  through  it  this  term,  but 
I  have  found  it,  as  I  said  then,  more  easily  said  than 
done.  We  have  had  five  recitations  in  it.  With  the 
first  four  I  got  along  very  well,  but  the  last  lesson  on 
Friday  I  did  not  have.  I  studied  all  day  yesterday  on 
it  except  about  two  hours.  During  one  of  these  I  hoed 
in  the  garden  and  got  my  Latin  lesson  while  so  doing. 
In  the  other  hour  I  rode  out  horse-back,  but  did  not 
enjoy  my  ride  for  thinking  of  my  algebra.  I  studied  it 
in  the  evening,  didn't  get  through  with  Friday's  lesson, 
cried  over  it  nearly  two  hours,  went  to  bed  half-past 
eleven,  got  up  this  morning  at  five,  studied  till  3  P.  M., 
not  going  to  church  this  forenoon,  and  got  two-thirds 
of  my  lesson  for  to-morrow.  The  reason  I  am  so  anx- 
ious to  get  through  it  now  is  that  I  want  to  finish  pre- 
paratory mathematics  this  term  in  order  to  attain  the  end 
I  am  now  striving  for.  If  the  teacher  we  had  at  home 
a  year  ago  could  have  taught  algebra  as  she  said  she 
could,  I  should  not  now  have  all  this  trouble. 

"  I  have  not  gone  to  the  war,  as  it  seems  you  ex- 
pected from  what  I  wrote,  but  I  thought  it  would  be 
well  enough  to  know  how  you  felt  on  the  subject  in  case 
a  favorable  chance  might  offer.  I  must  now  bid  you 
good-bye  for  a  little  while  to  take  exercise,  without 
which  I  should  not  be  able  to  stand  it  long." 

On  entering  the  school  I  was  told  that  each  boy  had 
to  speak  a  piece  once  in  three  weeks  and  write  a  com- 
position once  in  three  weeks,  but  those  who  wrote  their 
own  declamations  and  spoke  them  need  not  write  com- 


42  The  Farmer  Boy 

positions.  I  told  the  teacher  that  I  would  write  my 
declamations.  My  first  one  was  a  very  tame  compo- 
sition on  the  Missouri  Compromise.  The  principal  ad- 
vised me  to  read  it  as  a  composition,  but  I  begged  him 
to  let  me  speak  it  and  I  would  try  to  do  better  next 
time.  After  that  I  seemed  to  get  into  the  oratorical 
style  and  improved  rapidly.  Later  on  one  of  the  boys 
who  was  about  to  graduate  delivered  an  oration  to 
prove  that  barbarism  was  a  stronger  and  happier  condi- 
tion than  civilization.  I  asked  permission  to  answer 
him  in  my  next  oration  and  did  so  to  the  apparent 
amusement  and  satisfaction  of  all. 

During  these  months  the  great  Civil  War  was  com- 
ing on  and  both  my  declamations  and  letters  home  were 
full  of  the  subject.  I  asked  my  parents'  permission  to 
enlist  in  the  Northern  army  but  this  was  refused.  On 
the  last  day  of  school,  the  day  before  the  Fourth  of 
July,  my  declamation  was  in  the  form  of  verses  and 
was  full  of  the  patriotic  and  heroic.  I  was  honored  by 
being  placed  next  to  the  last  on  the  programme. 

My  teachers  were  Mr.  D.  G.  Moore,  principal.  Miss 
Hudson  and  Miss  Hodges.  I  soon  came  to  like  them 
very  much,  and  I  think  now  from  the  way  they  over- 
looked my  faults  and  helped  me  on  that  they  must  have 
liked  me.  Some  years  later,  Mr.  Moore  married  Miss 
Hudson  and  became  a  prominent  man  in  Illinois.  Miss 
Hodges  was  married  to  Mr.  Everett  P.  Wheeler,  a 
leading  lawyer  and  Churchman  of  New  York  City. 
Not  knowing  this  latter  fact,  about  eight  years  after- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  43 

ward  I  was  calling  on  Mr.  Wheeler  for  a  subscription 
toward  the  endowment  of  the  Diocese  of  Albany.  He 
invited  me  into  his  house  to  entertain  me  for  the  night. 
Great  was  my  surprise  and  joy  to  find  that  my  hostess 
was  my  old  teacher. 

During  the  summer  vacation,  I  worked  to  earn 
money  for  clothes  and  books.  I  first  hoed  the  gardens 
for  my  Uncle  and  Cousin  Charles.  I  then  made  the 
hay  in  Uncle's  meadow  of  seven  acres  and  put  it  in  the 
barn.  The  rest  of  the  vacation  I  worked  in  his  boot 
factory. 

When  I  left  home,  I  weighed  one  hundred  and  sev- 
enteen pounds,  v/as  well  knit  and  strong.  During  the 
six  months  of  school  and  hard  study  I  lost  five  pounds, 
but  regained  it  and  more  during  the  summer,  so  that 
I  weighed  one  hundred  and  twenty-two  pounds.  I 
wrote  home  at  this  time  as  follows: 

*'  I  do  not  think  I  am  delicate,  for  I  eat  more  than 
any  other  person  at  the  table  and  am  the  strongest  boy 
in  school  except  the  soldier.  It  is  my  practice  to  take 
plenty  of  food,  sleep  and  exercise,  bathe  twice  a 
week  and,  most  important  of  all,  sleep  with  my  win- 
dows open,  summer  or  winter,  so  that  I  breathe  the  pure 
air  which  is  enough  to  make  most  any  person  healthy." 

Owing  to  the  hard  times  caused  by  the  war,  it  had 
been  doubtful  about  the  school  reopening,  but  the 
teachers  accepted  reduced  salaries  and  the  school 
went  on  August  20th.  If  the  school  had  not  re- 
opened,  I  had  decided  to  enlist  in   Berdan's  Sharp 


44  The  Farmer  Boy 

Shooters  and  go  to  the  war.  The  previous  term  I 
had  earned  five  dollars  by  sweeping  and  dusting  the 
school-room,  bringing  in  the  wood  and  ringing  the  bell. 
I  undertook  the  same  again.  My  principal  studies 
were  Latin  reader,  Caesar  and  Greek.  My  time  was 
divided  into  regular  hours,  which  were  systematically 
observed.  I  rose  every  morning  at  five  o'clock,  studied 
until  seven,  did  the  chores  at  home  and  school  until 
nine,  after  school  until  six  I  swept  the  school-room  and 
studied.  After  supper  until  bed  time  I  did  the  even- 
ing chores  and  took  gymnastic  exercises.  On  the  hori- 
zontal bar  I  could  draw  myself  up  to  my  chin  twenty- 
seven  times  in  immediate  succession.  I  was  usually  in 
bed  by  nine  o'clock. 

The  older  girls  and  boys  of  the  school  formed  a 
reading  circle  to  which  I  belonged  and  the  boys  or- 
ganized a  debating  society.  Among  my  schoolmates 
and  boon  companions  were  the  following:  Edward  L. 
Temple,  who  afterwards  became  the  treasurer  of  a 
savings  bank  and  the  author  of  several  books.  He 
married  my  Cousin  Lucy  Graves;  Wilbur  Atwater, 
who  left  that  fall  for  college  and  afterwards  became 
professor  of  chemistry  in  Wesleyan  University  and  one 
of  the  leading  chemists  of  the  country;  Eugene  Kelley, 
who  enlisted  in  Berdan's  Sharp  Shooters  and  died  in 
the  war;  his  brother,  Edwin  D,  Kelley,  a  fine  linguist, 
who  graduated  at  the  University  of  Michigan  and  be- 
came a  Baptist  missionary  in  Burmah.  He  partly 
translated  the  Bible  into  Burmese  and  was  drowned 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  45 

in  Burmah;  Charles  Mead,  the  finest  speaker  in  our 
school,  who  was  shot  in  battle.  There  were  several 
girls  who  led  their  classes  and  all  became  noble  women. 
First  among  them  in  beauty  and  accomplishments  was 
my  Cousin  Lucy.  In  a  letter  home  at  that  time  she 
is  described  in  the  following  couplet: 

"  Whose  eyes  I  never  meet  without  a  smile. 
Whose  heart  is  full  of  kindness  all  the  while." 

She  exerted  the  greatest  influence  on  my  life  to 
refine  and  ennoble  it;  a  debt  I  never  paid  except  in 
admiration  and  love.  Many  years  afterwards,  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  having  her  on  my  arm  when  I  was 
honored  as  bishop  in  the  White  House  at  Washington. 

In  October,  1861,  six  weeks  after  school  opened, 
under  the  advice  of  the  principal,  Mr.  Moore,  and 
Cousin  Charles,  I  gave  up  for  the  time  the  difficult 
undertaking  of  fitting  for  college  by  the  next  autumn. 
Mr.  Moore  thought  I  then  might  teach  for  the  winter 
and  earn  some  money  which  I  very  much  needed.  At 
that  time  I  wrote  home  that  I  had  not  had  a  cent  of 
money  for  six  weeks.  My  Uncle  objected  strongly  to 
my  teaching,  as  he  needed  me  to  do  the  chores,  so  I 
eventually  gave  that  up  and  stayed  in  school.  The 
chores  at  that  time  were  to  cut  wood  for  three  stoves, 
take  care  of  a  horse,  drive  a  mile  to  the  pasture  and 
milk  a  cow  and  take  care  of  the  school  building.  One 
Saturday  I  gathered  fourteen  bushels  of  carrots,  nine 
bushels  of  turnips,  three  bushels  of  beets,  one  bushel  of 


46  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

parsnips,  half  a  bushel  of  salsify  and  put  them  all  in 
the  cellar.  Having  settled  down  to  the  regular  school 
course,  things  went  on  smoothly  to  the  end  of  the  school 
year.  In  the  spring  vacation  I  was  unable  to  get  work 
to  earn  money,  so  I  went  into  my  Uncle's  boot  factory 
and  made  myself  a  pair  of  shoes  which  lasted  me  a 
year. 

The  following  letter  to  my  mother  gives  a  picture 
of  my  life  as  it  then  was : 

"Rutland,  Vt.,  May  18th,  1862. 
"  M\)  dear  Mother: 

"  I  think  yesterday  was  one  of  the  happiest  days 
of  my  life.  There  was  nothing  in  particular  to  make 
it  so,  but  it  was  one  of  those  days  when  there  seems  to 
be  a  smile  on  everybody's  face  and  all  nature  seemed 
to  twinkle  with  gladness,  I  worked  in  the  garden  all 
day,  leisurely  and  perhaps  lazily,  but  my  mind  ever 
busy  with  its  own  happy  thoughts.  I  thought  of  you  all 
and  in  my  mind  voluntarily  went  back  .over  the  happier 
events  of  my  life. 

"  I  quit  work  at  six  o'clock,  washed  and  changed 
my  clothes  for  Sunday.  After  tea  I  went  two  miles 
south  of  the  village  after  a  trunk.  It  was  at  the  house 
of  Mr.  Horace  Dyer,  a  rich  bachelor  farmer,  where 
lives  my  classmate,  George  Ellis.  He  invited  me  into 
the  library  where  we  had  a  splendid  chat,  recounting 
the  past  events  of  our  lives  and  our  future  hopes. 

"  In  the  evening  a  son  of  Rev.  Dr.  Hicks,  of  Bur- 
lington, came  to  stay  over  night  with  me.  He  told  of 
the  exploits,  trials  and  sports  of  the  college  boys  until 
my  mind,  always  overflowing  with  boyish  hope,  sped  on 
to  the  time  when  I,  too,  should  be  a  college  student. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  47 

"  Friday  evening  our  debating  society  met  as  usual, 
but  as  there  was  not  a  quorum  that  night,  some  one  pro- 
posed to  hear  a  stump  speech  from  Graves  on  the  war. 
I  happened  to  have  General  Hunter's  proclamation  in 
my  pocket  which  none  of  them  had  read,  so  I  con- 
sented. They  stepped  out  and  got  a  couple  of  girls  to 
help  make  a  respectable  audience,  when  I  '  went  in 
extempore  '  and  fairly  surprised  myself. 

"  I  wrote  a  piece  on  Chivalry  to  speak  last  Wednes- 
day and  gave  it  to  Mr.  Moore  to  correct.  When  he 
returned  it,  the  passages  I  thought  the  most  eloquent 
were  struck  out.  I  concluded  not  to  speak  it  thus 
mutilated,  so  I  learned  and  rehearsed,  to  his  great  sur- 
prise, a  selected  piece,  which,  by  the  way,  is  the  first 
one  not  original  I  have  spoken  since  I  have  been  here. 

"  I  have  been  to  church  twice  to-day,  read  1 88  pages 
in  the  life  of  Alexander  the  Great  and  walked  two 
miles  for  exercise.  I  received  my  report  Wednesday 
and  found  my  standing  lower  than  ever,  but  I  am  con- 
scious that  I  have  done  as  well  as  possible  under  the 
circumstances.  I  enjoy  the  best  of  health  and  am 
strong  and  hearty.  I  hope  to  hear  from  you  all  before 
another  week  rolls  around  and  in  the  meantime  I 
remain, 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  Anson." 

At  the  close  of  the  school  year,  I  passed  the  ex- 
aminations without  difficulty  and  spoke  an  original  piece 
on  swearing.  I  was  honored  by  being  placed  last  on 
the  programme.  I  had  been  looking  in  every  direc- 
tion for  work  during  the  summer,  but  could  find  none. 
In  desperation  I  wrote  to  President  Jackson  of  Hobart 


48  The  Farmer  Boy 

College,  told  him  what  preparation  I  had,  that  I  could 
read  two  and  perhaps  four  books  of  Vergil  during  the 
summer,  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  I  could  enter 
Hobart  and  keep  a  good  standing  in  my  class.  His 
answer  was  favorable.  Three  days  after  school  closed 
I  began  Vergil,  studying  nine  hours  a  day.  The  first 
day  I  learned  the  rules  of  prosody,  scanned  and  trans- 
lated thirteen  lines  and  recited  to  Cousin  Emily.  The 
next  day  I  got  forty  lines  and  soon  settled  down  to 
one  hundred  lines  a  day.  By  the  end  of  July  I  was 
well  into  the  third  book,  but  became  utterly  tired  out, 
I  could  not  sleep  at  night  for  thinking  of  my  lessons  and 
realized  that  I  must  stop  studying.  As  I  had  only  nine- 
teen dollars  in  money,  I  also  realized  that  I  must  earn 
something  before  going  to  college.  I  almost  compelled 
my  Uncle  to  give  me  work  in  his  boot  factory,  though 
he  could  offer  me  only  eight  cents  an  hour.  By  rising 
at  four  o'clock,  doing  the  chores  and  eating  a  bread 
and  milk  breakfast,  I  was  able  to  get  to  the  shop  at 
six  o'clock.  In  this  way  I  worked  eleven  hours  a  day 
and  earned  eighty-eight  cents. 

At  this  time  war  meetings  were  frequently  held  to 
incite  men  to  volunteer  in  the  army.  Three  hundred 
men  were  required  from  the  town  of  Rutland  and  only 
one  hundred  could  be  induced  to  enlist.  My  patriotic 
soul  was  stirred  with  indignation  at  such  a  condition. 
Again  I  asked  my  parents'  permission  to  enlist  and 
urged  it  with  the  best  arguments  I  could.  They  posi- 
tively refused.     As  they  and  my  brother  Daniel  had 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  49 

sacrificed  a  great  deal  in  letting  me  go  off  to  school  be- 
fore I  was  of  age,  I  felt  I  must  yield  to  their  wishes. 
My  parents  were  aged,  and  for  the  first  time  in  their  life 
had  secured  a  home  of  their  own.  My  brother  Daniel 
was  working  very  hard  to  meet  the  payments.  Had  I 
enlisted,  the  one  hundred  dollar  bounty  was  to  go  to- 
ward paying  for  their  home,  and  twenty  dollars  a 
month,  which  Vermont  soldiers  received,  was  to  be 
saved  up  to  help  me  through  college.  The  forbidding 
prospects  of  my  being  able  to  work  my  way  through 
college  with  so  little  money  in  sight  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  my  desire  to  enlist.  After  paying 
my  fare  to  the  college  at  Geneva,  New  York,  and  buy- 
ing a  few  necessaries,  I  had  only  twenty-eight  dollars 
with  no  one  in  the  world  to  help  me  to  the  value  of  a 
cent.  Nevertheless,  I  bravely  bid  farewell  to  my  sec- 
ond home,  not  without  many  tears,  and  took  the  train 
for  my  college  town. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRESHMAN  YEAR  IN  COLLEGE. 

/^^N  arriving  in  Geneva,  New  York,  I  was  greatly 
^-^  impressed  with  the  beauty  of  the  place.  The 
college  buildings  overlooked  Seneca  Lake,  and  there 
were  many  beautiful  homes  with  terraced  gardens  on 


50  The  Farmer  Bo\) 

the  lake  shore  between  the  college  and  the  business 
part  of  the  town.  The  view  stretched  away  across  the 
lake  to  the  hills,  open  fields  and  verdant  groves  beyond. 

Rev.  Dr.  Metcalf,  professor  of  Latin,  examined  me 
in  Latin  and  Greek,  and  very  kindly  let  me  through 
with  my  many  deficiencies.  I  also  passed  in  mathe- 
matics. I  later  found  that  I  had  the  poorest  prepara- 
tion of  any  in  our  class  except  one  boy,  and  he  was  con- 
ditioned and  left  college  at  the  end  of  the  first  term. 
It  took  the  very  hardest  study  for  me  to  keep  up  with 
my  class,  but  I  passed  all  my  examinations  at  the  end 
of  the  term  and  was  duly  matriculated. 

Dr.  Metcalf  helped  me  to  find  a  cheap  boarding- 
house  where  I  could  get  a  room  for  seventy-five  cents 
a  week  and  meals  for  two  dollars  a  week.  This,  he 
said,  was  the  best  I  could  do.  After  buying  the  neces- 
sary books,  I  had  then  left  only  $19.  I  boarded  with 
a  Mrs.  Reed,  whose  husband  had  gone  to  the  war.  I 
soon  arranged  with  her  to  get  dinners  only  at  twelve 
cents  a  meal.  Breakfast  and  supper  consisted  of  crack- 
ers and  sweet  apples  at  a  cost  of  three  cents  a  meal. 
Not  long  after  that  she  let  me  work  for  my  board. 
After  a  few  weeks  she  moved  away.  In  the  meantime, 
a  Mr.  H.  C.  Schell  heard  that  I  was  trying  to  work  my 
way  and  kindly  invited  me  to  live  in  his  family  until  I 
found  a  place  to  work  for  my  board.  He  did  not  have 
much  for  me  to  do,  but  I  taught  his  little  girl  and  helped 
his  son  with  his  Latin  and  copied  insurance  reports  in 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  51 

his  office.  Thus  matters  went  on  until  after  the  Christ- 
mas vacation. 

I  had  been  looking  everywhere  to  find  a  place  where 
I  could  work  for  my  board,  but  could  find  none.  I 
could  not  reasonably  stay  longer  with  Mr.  Schell,  as 
he  was  not  wealthy  and  had  a  large  family  to  support. 
I  had  written  out  to  my  school  friends,  the  Kelly  boys, 
who  were  getting  on  finely  in  the  University  of  Mich- 
igan. They  thought  I  would  have  no  trouble  in  work- 
ing my  way  out  there,  and  their  parents  kindly  offered 
to  let  me  live  with  them  until  I  found  a  olace  to  work. 
Accordingly  I  made  arrangements  to  leave  Hobart  and 
pay  my  way  to  Ann  Arbor  with  the  few  dollars  I  had 
remaining.  I  secured  an  honorable  letter  of  transfer 
from  President  Jackson,  who  seemed  to  regret  my 
leaving. 

These  preparations  for  a  change  hastened  a  crisis  in 
my  religious  life.  When  I  went  to  live  at  my  Uncle 
George's,  two  years  before,  I  was  a  downright  disbe- 
liever in  the  Christian  religion.  While  there,  I  had  at- 
tended regularly  the  Episcopal  Church  with  his  family. 
The  quiet  devotion  of  the  congregation,  the  solemn 
beauty  of  the  service,  the  earnest  preaching  of  Dr. 
Roger  Howard,  and  the  genuine  Christian  life  in  my 
Uncle's  family,  silently  and  unconsciously  softened  my 
heart  and  began  to  make  me  wish  I  could  believe  and 
be  a  Christian.  Still  I  would  not  say  the  Creed  in  the 
Service  and  was  still  skeptical.  When  I  came  to 
college,  I  found  that  all  our  learned  professors  were 


52  The  Farmer  Boy 

devout  Christians  and  I,  began  to  think  that  possibly 
Tom  Paine  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that  there  might 
be,  after  all,  some  reasonable  ground  for  accepting 
Christianity.  Finally  I  went  to  our  ablest  professor. 
Dr.  W.  D.  Wilson,  and  told  him  my  difficulties.  He 
talked  to  me  in  a  kindly  way  and  advised  me  to  read 
Pearson  on  the  Creed.  As  that  proved  everything 
from  the  Bible  and  I  rejected  the  inspiration  of  the 
Scripture,  it  did  not  help  me  much.  Still,  as  I  read 
and  pondered,  it  finally  came  to  me  that  the  Christian 
religion  was  not  intended  to  be  founded  on  reason  in 
such  a  way  as  to  compel  one  to  accept  it,  but  that  in 
the  final  issue  the  will  was  the  arbiter.  That  faith  and 
an  honest  purpose  to  do  God's  will,  without  positive 
knowledge,  was  sufficient  ground  to  act  on.  Accord- 
ingly I  went  to  the  college  chaplain,  Rev.  Henry  A. 
Neely,  afterward  bishop  of  Maine,  and  told  him  that 
I  had  not  very  much  faith,  but  that  I  was  willing  to 
make  an  honest  trial  of  the  Christian  religion;  that  I 
was  not  at  all  happy  or  contented  with  my  infidelity, 
and  that  I  was  willing  to  try  and  see  if  the  full  Christian 
life  would  make  me  any  happier;  that  I  was  going  off 
to  a  strange  college  and  if  he  thought  me  a  proper 
subject  for  baptism  I  should  like  to  be  baptized  the  next 
day,  Sunday.  He  said  if  I  had  faith  as  a  grain  of  mus- 
tard seed,  I  ought  not  to  crush  it  out,  but  let  it  grow, 
and  that  he  would  baptize  me  the  next  day.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Schell  stood  as  my  witnesses  and  on  January  1  1 , 
1863,  in  Trinity  Church,  Geneva,  I  was  baptized  into 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  53 

Christ.  The  first  Sunday  of  the  next  month  the  Chap- 
Iain  preached  a  very  earnest  sermon  on  the  duty  and 
benefit  of  receiving  the  Lord's  Supper.  I  thought  if 
any  one  needed  it,  I  did,  and  without  waiting  for  Con- 
firmation or  even  permission,  I  went  forward  and  re- 
ceived. I  continued  to  do  so  until  the  next  autumn, 
when  Bishop  De  Lancey  came  and  I  was  confirmed.  I 
might  say  here  that  I  have  never  since  turned  my  back 
on  the  Lord's  Supper  whenever  I  was  present  at  its 
celebration.  I  cannot  say  that  my  skeptical  nature  was 
obliterated,  but  I  set  my  face  against  it  and  tried  all  the 
harder  to  live  a  holy  life.  From  the  moment  I  deter- 
mined what  to  do  and  was  baptized  the  uneasiness  of  a 
skeptic's  life  left  me  and  a  quiet,  holy  joy  reigned  in 
my  heart. 

A  few  days  after  my  baptism  I  was  passing  a  large 
Sanitarium,  where  I  had  been  refused  work  a  short 
time  before.  I  was  moved  to  try  again.  I  was  told 
that  the  young  man  who  had  been  doing  their  odd  jobs 
was  going  to  leave  and  if  I  would  sweep  the  Doctor's 
office,  mix  such  medicines  as  he  required  and  assist  in 
giving  the  patients  their  physical  exercises,  I  could  have 
a  room  and  my  board.  The  same  day  Dr.  Jackson  said 
I  could  have  the  John  Watts  scholarship,  which  brought 
in  seventy  dollars  a  year.  These  unexpected  promises 
settled  the  matter  of  my  leaving  Hobart.  They  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  remain,  which  I  greatly  desired. 
They  gave  me  time  for  my  studies  and  a  wholesome 
life  free  from  anxiety.     Putting  the  stronger  patients 


54  The  Farmer  Boy 

through  the  required  movements  gave  me  the  best  of 
exercise,  while  the  plain,  wholesome  food  was  best 
suited  for  a  student's  life.  All  things  went  smoothly 
and  well  for  the  four  months  I  remained  there,  and  in 
many  ways  were  the  pleasantest  and  most  profitable 
days  of  my  college  life. 

As  I  did  not  seem  to  be  needed  for  teaching  in  the 
Sunday  school  of  Trinity  Church,  I  took  work  in  the 
so-called  Bethel  Sunday  school,  a  union  school  in  what 
might  be  called  the  slums  of  Geneva.  The  boys  in  my 
class  were  very  rough,  and  I  sometimes  had  to  chase 
them  in  from  the  outside,  or  "  round  them  up,"  as  we 
would  say  in  the  west. 

Things  went  on  smoothly  the  rest  of  the  college  year 
and  I  was  steadily  making  my  way  up  in  my  studies 
from  the  foot  of  the  class.  In  May  my  kind  friend, 
Mr.  Schell,  moved  from  the  town  a  mile  into  the  coun- 
try where  he  had  several  acres  of  land,  a  horse,  a  cow 
and  a  garden.  He  was  very  anxious  to  have  me  come 
and  live  with  him.  I  was  most  comfortably  fixed  in  the 
Sanitarium  and  did  not  wish  to  leave,  but  as  Mr.  Schell 
was  badly  crippled  with  rheumatism  and  had  be- 
friended me  in  the  day  of  my  most  urgent  need,  I  went 
to  live  with  him  again  and  work  for  my  board.  Our 
friendship  continued  many  years  until  his  death.  He 
lived  long  enough  to  see  me  a  bishop  and  was  very 
proud  of  my  promotion.  His  letters  always  began  with 
"  My  dear  God-son  "  and  ended  with  "  Your  affec- 
tionate God-father." 


IVho  Became  a  Bishop  55 

During  the  first  summer  vacation  I  worked  on  a  farm, 
harvesting  and  stacking  grain,  and  when  that  work  was 
over,  I  dug  and  piled  stone  on  another  farm  at  one 
dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  a  day.  Later  I  secured 
work  of  Mr.  James  O.  Sheldon,  a  retired  merchant, 
cutting  the  dead  limbs  out  of  the  trees  on  his  beautiful 
estate.  While  there,  a  Mrs.  J.  B.  Varnum  of  New 
York  City  was  visiting  at  Mr.  Sheldon's  home.  One 
day  he  pointed  me  out  to  her  in  the  top  of  a  high  elm 
tree  sawing  off  limbs  at  the  risk  of  my  Hfe.  He  told  her 
that  I  was  doing  that  to  work  my  way  through  college. 
She  immediately  became  interested,  made  many  in- 
quiries of  him,  of  Mr.  Schell,  and  of  the  college  presi- 
dent in  regard  to  me.  She  returned  to  New  York 
without  my  seeing  her.  When  Mr.  Sheldon  paid  me 
off,  he  handed  me  five  dollars  extra  which  he  said  was 
left  me  by  Mrs.  Varnum.  I  wrote  her  a  letter  of 
thanks.  From  that  time  till  her  death  she  remained 
my  steadfast  friend,  occasionally  sending  me  small 
sums  of  money  as  she  heard  indirectly  or  surmised  that 
I  needed  it. 

Near  the  end  of  this  vacation  a  regiment  of  cavalry 
was  mustered  in  at  Camp  Swift,  a  short  distance  from 
where  I  lived.  I  used  to  go  over  and  talk  to  the  boys 
till  my  former  war  fever  returned  upon  me.  This  was 
inflamed  by  patriotic  letters  from  my  friend,  Charles  B. 
Mead,  who  was  then  at  the  front  in  almost  daily  battles. 
I  again  wrote  home  most  earnestly  for  permission  to 
enlist.    My  parents  and  my  brother,  who  had  sacrificed 


56  The  Farmer  Boy 

much  that  I  might  get  an  education,  wrote  me  very 
strongly  against  it  and  I  realized  the  justice  of  the  plea. 
It  was  well  for  me  that  I  did,  for  soon  after  the  regi- 
ment reached  Virginia  it  was  cut  to  pieces  in  an  am- 
buscade and  half  of  them  killed  or  wounded. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SOPHOMORE    YEAR. 

ON  the  29th  of  the  next  October,  1863,  Bishop 
Delancey,  then  very  old  and  feeble,  visited  the 
college  chapel  for  confirmation.  I  stood  at  the  chancel 
rail  between  two  classmates,  Asa  G.  Wells  and  Charles 
S.  Knapp.  They  both  were  preparing  for  the  ministry 
and  I  was  to  be  a  lawyer  and  politician.  During  the 
following  winter  both  were  sick  with  diphtheria  and  I 
helped  to  nurse  them.  Knapp  recovered,  though  he 
was  never  very  strong  afterwards  and  died  after  being 
about  twelve  or  fifteen  years  in  the  ministry.  Wells, 
whom  I  loved  dearly,  became  apparently  some  better 
so  I  was  able  to  take  him  to  the  home  of  a  cousin  in 
Cazenovia,  New  York.  Two  or  three  days  later  the 
news  of  his  death  came  to  us  and  cast  a  gloom  over  all 
in  college.  Knapp  was  my  room-mate  in  college  for  a 
year  or  more. 

During  the  autumn  of  1863  there  came  to  the  class 


ANSOX   K.  (IKAVKS  AT  'IWKNTV-ONK   YKAKs  (»F  Ai.K. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  57 

below  ours  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Philip  Potter.  From 
some  cause  he  and  I  formed  a  most  eager  and  romantic 
friendship.  He,  too,  was  to  study  for  the  ministry, 
but  his  eyes  failed  him,  so  he  had  to  leave  college  and 
give  up  his  life  hopes.  The  friendship,  however,  has 
lasted  through  fifty  years,  and  we  are  bosom  friends 
to-day. 

Potter  had  brought  with  him  a  little  photograph  of 
a  girl  in  his  aunt's  school  at  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  by 
the  name  of  Bessie  Thornton.  I  conceived  a  wonder- 
ful liking  for  the  girlish  face  and  begged  the  photo- 
graph from  him.  I  carried  it  in  my  pocketbook  for 
years  and  cherished  it  as  embodying  the  ideal  of  all 
that  is  lovely  in  woman.  Some  of  my  earliest  verses 
were  inscribed  to  her.     The  following  is  a  sample: 

To  Bessie  Thornton. 

Some  bring  the  painful  love  to  light 

That  buried  long  has  been. 
Some  sing  fresh  love,  but  I  will  write 

Of  her  I  have  not  seen. 

They  tell  me  that  her  eyes  are  gray. 

Her  locks  of  silken  brown. 
Her  movement  graceful,  light  and  gay. 

As  nymphs  of  old  renown. 

As  ruby's  tints  illume  the  gold 
That  holds  the  gem  in  place. 

E'en  so,  they  say,  her  beaming  soul 
Lights  up  her  radiant  face. 


58  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

E*en  if  she  should  in  trifles  fail. 

It  does  not  dim  her  sheen. 
Since  fancy  throws  its  silken  veil 

O'er  her  I  have  not  seen. 

Though,  maiden,  we  may  never  meet 

Except  by  Fancy's  art, 
In  love-lit  day  dreams,  pure  and  sweet. 

The  Eden  of  the  heart; 

Yet  in  those  dear,  enchanted  isles. 
Those  bowers  of  shining  green. 

May  I  not  share  the  looks  and  smiles 
Of  her  I  have  not  seen? 

And  may  I  add  this  little  prayer 

To  her,  my  fancy's  queen, 
Of  thought  she'll  grant  a  tiny  share 

To  him  she  has  not  seen? 

Eight  years  later,  when  in  Vevey,  Switzerland,  I 
wrote  the  following  of  Bessie: 


Bessie's  Photograph. 

Vevey,  Switzerland,  Oct.  10,  1871 
The  sun  is  brig'-it  on  Alpine  peaks, 

Geneva's  waves  are  glancing  fair. 
While  vintage  songs  of  Switzer  maids 

Come  trembling  through  the  autumn  air. 

Their  songs  fall  dull  upon  mine  ear. 
Nor  wins  my  sight  this  charming  place. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  59 

My  eyes  instead  are  bending  o'er 
The  portrait  of  a  girlish  face. 

Although  those  lips  ne'er  spoke  my  name. 

That  little  hand  was  ne'er  in  mine. 
Though  never  in  those  eyes  I've  glanced, 

I  hold  her  yet  as  half  divine. 

And  years  have  passed  since  it  was  so. 
Long  years  of  toil  and  change  and  care, 

Yet  oft  my  lips  this  picture  press. 
Oft  lisp  her  name  in  secret  prayer. 

But  why  it  is  I  cannot  tell. 

Yet  something  whispers  to  my  heart 

That  kindred  spirits  were  not  made 
To  be  forever  thus  apart. 

'Tis  true  we  may  not  meet  on  ekrth. 

But  in  the  world  which  is  to  be, 
Methinks  I'll  know  those  wondrous  eyes. 

And  she,  perhaps,  will  smile  on  me. 

*Tis  strangely  sweet  to  think  and  dream 
Of  that  bright  home  and  those  we  love. 

That  lives  here  sundered  yet  may  flow 
In  one  commingled  stream  above. 

Then  fare-thee-well,  my  spirit's  love 
Till  then  remain  fair,  sweet  and  free. 

And  angels  keep  my  wayward  heart 
From  loving  one  less  pure  than  thee. 


60  The  Farmer  Boy 

A  year  later,  when  toiling  alone  on  the  plains  of 
Nebraska,  I  wrote  the  following  of  her : 

To  Bessie. 
Crete,  Nebraska,  Aug.  1 4,  1 872. 

Night  comes,  and  resting  on  my  lonely  couch, 
I  think  of  what  I've  been  and  ought  to  be. 

Then  think  of  Heaven,  of  mansions,  angels  there. 
Then  vanish  into  dreams  with  thoughts  of  thee. 

When  daylight,  stealing  on  the  realms  of  sleep. 
Unclasps  its  bars  and  sets  my  senses  free. 

The  chain  that  lets  me  down  to  earth  again 
Are  linked,  lingering  dreams  I've  had  of  thee. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  to  close  this  delicate  romance  by 
saying  that  I  never  have  seen  Bessie  Thornton,  and  I 
do  not  suppose  she  ever  heard  of  my  existence.  How- 
ever, in  the  long,  lonely  struggles  of  my  early  life,  no 
doubt  my  thoughts  and  dreams  of  her  helped  to  purify 
and  ennoble  my  life.  I  still  hope  to  meet  her  and  know 
her  in  a  better  world.  I  might  add  as  an  associated 
fact  of  interest  that  there  was  then  in  that  same  town  of 
Brattleboro  another  little  girl  who  afterwards  became 
my  wife. 

Before  I  came  to  Hobart  the  secret,  or  Greek  letter, 
societies  had  claimed  and  secured  all  the  men  of  each 
class  except  two  or  three  who  were  called  neutrals. 
Some  of  these,  though  not  all,  were  undesirable,  and 
in  consequence  were,  in  a  mild  sense,  ostracised.     The 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  61 

class  officers,  the  speakers  at  public  exhibitions  and  the 
desirable  offices  of  the  Hterary  societies  were  monop- 
olized by  the  society  men.  When  our  class,  the  class 
of  1866,  entered  Hobart  it  was  one  of  the  largest  and 
perhaps  the  strongest  class  the  college  ever  had.  The 
societies  got  hold  of  a  few  of  our  men,  but  not  the 
strongest  or  the  best.  A  large  majority  of  our  class 
remained  neutrals  and  clung  together.  In  consequence 
the  class  was  not  cut  up  into  small,  jarring  cliques. 
There  was  more  class  feeling  and  we  generally  won 
in  all  athletic  contests  with  the  other  classes  and  some- 
times played  against  two  of  the  other  classes  combined. 
The  marks  for  our  recitations  showed  an  average  well 
ahead  of  the  other  classes.  When  the  Sophomores 
undertook  to  haze  our  men,  we  retaliated  and  hazed 
some  of  them.  This  soon  brought  hazing  to  an  end 
for  that  year.  The  next  year,  when  the  freshmen  en- 
tered, we  neutrals  made  a  successful  effort  to  secure  a 
fair  share  of  the  men  as  neutrals.  This  led  to  many 
an  earnest  meeting  and  discussion.  In  consequence  two 
of  the  secret  societies  were  reduced  to  two  or  three 
members  apiece  and  the  college  honors,  as  far  as  they 
rested  in  the  hands  of  the  students,  were  more  equitably 
divided. 

On  the  third  day  of  November,  I  cast  my  first  vote. 
It  was  for  Abraham  Lincoln,  at  his  second  election. 
All  through  my  youth  I  had  been  an  advocate  of  the 
Democratic  party,  but  the  splitting  of  that  party  by  the 
Southerners,  their  secession  from  the  Union  and  the 


62  The  Farmer  Boy 

conduct  of  many  Northern  Democrats  during  the  war 
had  changed  my  sympathies  and  interests. 

In  December  cf  each  year  came  the  Sophomore  ex- 
hibition at  which  a  selection  from  their  number  spoke 
declamations  for  prizes.  After  the  exhibition  we  had 
a  class  supper  at  which  many  of  the  class  spoke  in 
response  to  toasts  given  out  before.  The  toast  "  Par 
Oneri,"  which  was  our  class  motto,  meaning  **  Equal 
to  the  Burden,"  had  been  given  to  me.  When  the 
toast-master  called  me  up,  I  spoke  as  follows,  which  I 
give  as  also  containing  some  class  history : 

"  Par  Oneri." 

Our  noble  motto!  'tis  to  thee 
We  drink  and  sing  in  highest  glee. 
To  thee  who,  born  amid  the  strife 
And  dangers  of  a  freshman's  life, 
'Twill  ever  make  our  hearts  beat  high 
To  hear  the  words  "  Par  Oneri." 

When  we  each  other  scarcely  knew 
Some  one  proposed  for  motto  you 
That  equal  to  the  burden  we 
In  peace  and  war  would  always.be 
And  on  each  other  we'd  rely 
To  make  ourselves  "  Par  Oneri." 

Scarce  thus  decided  when  the  doors 
Were  fastened  by  three  sophomores. 
We  burst  the  doors  and  drove  them  out, 
Made  their  defeat  a  perfect  rout. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  63 

So  for  their  lives  they  had  to  fly. 
They  found  us  all  "  Par  Oneri." 

At  length  the  Sophs  grew  mighty  bold 
And  on  our  classmate  laid  their  hold. 
Indignant  that  he  had  to  treat 
We  swore  the  bloody  Sophs  to  meet. 
And  all  their  boasted  power  defy 
And  prove  ourselves  "  Par  Oneri." 

One  cold,  dark  night  a  Soph  we  seized 
And  faced  him  to  the  chill  lake  breeze. 
To  treat  or  drown  his  choice  to  take, 
(His  fingers  felt  the  icy  lake). 
Poor  Sophy  answered  with  a  sigh, 
"  I  guess  you  are  '  Par  Oneri.'  " 

'Twas  on  the  Campus  at  base  ball 
We  answered  to  the  Sophomore's  call. 
We  fought  them  well  till  set  of  sun 
And  whipped  them  out  just  two  to  one. 
Then  loud  the  welkin  rang  and  high 
When  victory  crowned  "  Par  Oneri." 

At  length  we  reached  our  Sophomore  year 
And  in  our  turn  made  Freshmen  fear. 
Who  walked  the  streets  with  broken  pride 
And  hugged  at  night  the  shady  side, 
Then  trembled  at  each  noise  or  cry 
Lest  they  should  hear  "  Par  Oneri." 

One  night  a  sorry  Fresh  we  caught 
And  to  the  colored  district  brought. 
Then  tightly  bound  him  to  a  tree 


64  The  Farmer  Boy 

And  chuckled  in  our  fiendish  glee. 
Soon  down  the  street  he  heard  a  cry. 
The  devilish  yell,  "  Par  Oneri." 

Another  Freshman  lost  his  beard 
So  much  unto  his  heart  endeared; 
Just  for  a  burlesque  on  the  lake 
We  thought  a  bath  he'd  better  take. 
The  sudzing  lake  sent  up  a  sigh 
Which  sounded  like  "  Par  Oncri." 

But  now  vacation  comes  my  boys 
Let  ladies  make  up  half  your  joys. 
And  if  some  maid  you  try  to  woo 
As  Sophomore's  are  apt  to  do. 
Upon  your  gallantry  rely 
To  show  yourselves  "  Par  Oneri." 

Then  when  our  class  ship  moors  at  last 
And  all  her  anchors  safely  cast. 
When  we  all  from  the  old  ship  go 
Each  one  to  paddle  his  canoe. 
We'll  nail  upon  each  masthead  high 
The  noble  words  "  Par  Oneri." 

In  life's  rough  storm  we'll  never  fear. 
But  boldly  through  the  dark  shoals  steer. 
And  when  upon  life's  latest  wave 
Our  bark  seems  tottering  o'er  the  grave. 
We'll  shout  our  motto  till  we  die 
And  prove  ourselves  "  Par  Oneri." 

The  enthusiasm  and  cheers  brought  out  by  this  re- 
cital of  our  class  victories  can  be  easily  imagined. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  65 

At  the  end  of  1 863  I  find  the  following  note  in  my 
diary :  "  I  am  a  Sophomore  in  Hobart,  measure  five 
feet  five  and  one-half  inches  in  height,  weigh  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  pounds  and  enjoy  the  best  of 
health.  I  was  obliged  to  spend  nearly  all  my  spare 
time  the  past  year  in  earning  my  board.  I  have  sev- 
enteen dollars  and  sixty-five  cents  with  the  best  of 
prospects." 

I  spent  the  Christmas  vacation  at  my  Uncle's  in 
Rutland,  Vermont,  and  those  were  very  happy  days. 
Cousins  Emily  and  Lucy  with  myself  were  invited  to  all 
the  parties  and  festivities.  I  both  needed  and  enjoyed 
to  the  full  the  rest  and  recreation.  On  New  Year's 
day  with  two  old  schoolmates  we  made  twenty-two 
New  Year's  calls  and  attended  a  dance  in  the  evening 
— the  best  in  my  life. 

After  returning  to  college,  I  found  that  living  a 
mile  away,  the  care  of  a  horse  and  cow,  sawing  and 
carrying  all  the  wood  used,  care  of  a  garden,  orchard 
and  meadow,  took  up  so  much  of  my  time  that  I  was 
hardly  able  to  keep  up  with  my  class,  and  that  I  had 
no  time  whatever  for  side  reading.  I  tried  to  get  back 
to  my  old  place  at  the  Sanitarium,  but  that  was  filled 
by  another.  I  then  determined  to  board  myself  in  my 
room  at  college.  I  kept  this  up  during  the  rest  of  the 
college  year.  My  fare  was  exceedingly  simple.  For  a 
month  it  was  one-half  pint  of  milk  and  one-third  of  a 
loaf  of  bread  for  breakfast;  for  dinner  beefsteak 
roasted  on  a   stick  before  the  fire  in  the  stove   and 


66  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

Boston  crackers.  Supper  same  as  breakfast.  A  month 
or  more  later  It  was  corn  mush  and  potatoes  for  break- 
fast; dinner,  potatoes  and  dried  herring  or  dried  haH- 
but;  supper,  corn  mush  and  a  Httle  molasses  on  the  last 
plate  full.  Cost,  five  cents  a  day.  Two  months  after 
that  I  wrote  home  that  the  last  two  weeks  I  had  lived 
on  corn  mush  one  day  and  flour  mush  the  next,  with  a 
little  raw,  salt  pork.  For  weeks  at  a  time  I  lived  on 
thirty-three  cents  a  week.  In  June  I  wrote  home  that 
I  had  eaten  nothing  for  a  month  but  corn  meal  mush 
and  molasses.  Lack  of  money  was  the  chief  cause  of 
these  economies,  but  another  was  a  strong  desire  to  visit 
my  home  the  next  summer,  which  I  had  not  seen  in 
over  three  years.  At  this  time  I  had  not  the  means  in 
sight  and  I  was  saving  every  cent  I  could.  I  had  picked 
up  a  kind  of  stenography  from  an  old  man  who  came 
about  the  college  and  presently  I  had  a  class  of  fellow- 
students  learning  it  from  me  at  $1.50  apiece.  Not 
having  to  earn  my  board  enabled  me  to  do  far  better  in 
my  studies,  so  that  I  came  near  getting  into  the  honor 
grade  on  my  examinations.  I  even  joined  half  a 
dozen  classmates  in  reading  a  Greek  tragedy  outside 
the  course  which  we  recited  once  a  week  to  our  en- 
thusiastic Greek  professor,  Albert  S.  Wheeler.  Be- 
sides this,  I  read  much  in  Greek,  Latin  and  English 
literature  and  Roman  history  outside  the  regular  course. 
Still  the  close  application  to  my  studies  and  the  very 
slim  and  monotonous  diet  began  to  affect  my  stomach 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  67 

so  that  a  physician  told  me  that  I  must  take  more  exer- 
cise and  be  more  in  the  open  air. 

On  the  24th  of  June,  President  Jackson,  who  knew 
I  was  boarding  myself  and  probably  knew  of  my  poor 
fare,  came  to  me  and  said  that  he  was  satisfied  that  I 
would  eventually  study  for  the  ministry  and  if  I  could 
so  decide  now,  I  could  have  a  scholarship  of  $120  a 
year.  With  that  he  thought  I  could  get  on  more  com- 
fortably. I  told  him  I  thought  it  needed  good  men  in 
the  law  and  in  politics  as  well  as  in  the  ministry.  I 
could  not  yet  give  up  the  aspirations  and  ambition  of 
my  childhood.  From  that  time,  however,  I  could  not 
altogether  banish  the  idea  of  the  ministry  from  my  mind. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LATER  COLLEGE  CAREER. 

AT  the  end  of  my  Sophomore  year,  July  15,  1864, 
I  started  for  my  longed-for  visit  home.  I  had 
been  away  three  years  and  a  half,  and  had  half  starved 
myself  to  save  the  money  needed  for  the  journey.  On 
every  Sunday  during  all  those  years  I  had  never  failed 
to  write  home.  My  people  at  home  had  sent  me  oc- 
casionally some  postage  stamps,  but  were  not  able  to 
do  more.  My  brother  Daniel's  labor  was  practically 
supporting  a  family  of  four  and  paying  for  their  new 


68  The  Farmer  Do}^ 

home.  On  my  way  home  I  stopped  two  days  at  De- 
troit to  visit  with  a  college  friend,  P.  B.  Lightner,  and 
at  Ann  Arbor  with  an  old  school  friend,  Edwin  D. 
Kelley.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Kelley  on  religion 
which,  he  wrote  me  afterwards,  resulted  in  his  becom- 
ing a  Christian.  Some  years  after  he  died  a  mission- 
ary in  Burmah.  During  the  summer  vacation  I  helped 
brother  Daniel  through  his  harvesting  and  stacking, 
then  worked  the  rest  of  the  time  for  brother  Henry 
building  a  tobacco  shed  and  gathering  tobacco.  Early 
in  September  I  returned  to  college  with  a  large  box  of 
food  prepared  by  my  mother  and  sister. 

During  the  Christmas  vacation  I  stayed  in  my  room 
at  college  with  my  classmate,  Fred  C.  Rogers,  read  up 
on  Thackeray  and  his  works,  and  wrote  an  essay  for 
the  Cobb  prize  on  Thackeray.  Much  of  my  spare 
time  during  the  next  term  I  spent  in  reading  up  on 
Milton's  Paradise  Lost  and  writing  an  essay  on  it  for 
the  White  essay  prize.  I  fill  out  the  record  of  the  rest 
of  my  Junior  year  with  a  few  quotations  from  my 
diary : 

March  6th.  I  was  treated  to  an  oyster  supper  by 
Dr.  Stebbins.  My  food  for  some  weeks  has  been  a 
sort  of  hard-tack  made  of  flour  wet  up  with  water  and 
a  little  lard  and  baked  on  the  top  of  my  stove  with  a 
basin  turned  over  it  for  an  oven.  This  food,  I  fear,  is 
having  an  injurious  effect  on  my  health,  and  I  must 
change  my  diet.  I  have  just  received  thirty  dollars 
from  my  scholarship.     This  sum  has  got  to  board  and 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  69 

clothe  me,  pay  my  college  bills,  buy  books  and  every- 
thing else  I  have  until  the  middle  of  July,  over  three 
months. 

March  8th.  This  is  my  mother's  birthday.  I  have 
this  morning  resolved,  God  helping, 

1 .  To  improve  my  time  better. 

2.  To  rise  earlier  and  retire  earher. 

3.  To  take  better  care  of  my  health  by  taking 
more  exercise,  and  eating  better  food. 

4.  To  listen  to  no  obscene  talk. 

5.  To  be  more  devout  in  chapel. 

6.  To  pray  in  private  twice  instead  of  once  a  day. 
March  15th.    Received  a  box  of  good  eatables  from 

a  Mrs.  S.  S.  Gould  of  Seneca  Falls,  vs'hom  I  never 
saw^,  but  who  heard  of  my  struggles  from  a  friend. 

April  1st.  Received  a  barrel  of  eatables  from 
home,  nearly  one  thousand  miles  away. 

April  1 3th.  I  am  twenty-three  years  old  to-day  and 
came  near  not  thinking  of  it.  I  am  the  oldest  man  in 
our  class,  but  in  feelings  am  as  young  as  any. 

April  24th.  Tried  to  get  some  writing  or  some  other 
work  to  do  this  short  vacation,  but  without  success. 
There  is  nothing  that  so  embitters  my  feelings  as  to  be 
rejected  by  everybody  when  trying  to  get  employment 
to  keep  from  starving. 

July  8th.  Went  to  Rochester  to  get  a  book  agency 
to  work  by  the  month,  but  did  not  succeed,  as  their 
agents  all  work  on  commission.  I  would  work  on  com- 
mission, but  I  had  not  a  cent  of  money  in  the  world 


70  The  Farmei  Bo]) 

to  .begin  with.  Think  I  shall  try  to  borrow  some  money 
to  start  on,  though  it  will  be  the  first  debt  I  have  ever 
had.  Three  years  ago  m)'^  present  circumstances  would 
have  given  me  the  "  blues,"  but  now  I  feel  that  it 
will  all  be  right  some  way. 

July  1 2th.  This  has  been  a  great  day  for  me.  My 
essay  on  *'  Paradise  Lost "  took  the  first  White  prize, 
a  twenty-five  dollar  gold  medal,  and  my  essay  on 
Thackeray  took  the  first  Cobb  prize,  a  twenty  dollar 
gold  medal.  As  no  other  student  has  ever  taken  both 
these  prizes  (much  less  a  junior  away  from  seniors),  I 
received  many  congratulations.  Both  committees  to 
decide  praised  my  essays. 

On  July  14th,  I  began  canvassing  for  subscriptions 
for  the  "  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln,"  written  by  J.  G. 
Holland.  I  kept  steadily  at  it  for  seven  weeks,  secur- 
ing two  hundred  and  sixty-three  subsc  iptions.  My 
commission  amounted  to  three  hundred  dollars,  but  I 
did  not  get  the  books  to  deliver  until  the  next  winter.  I 
had  to  go  partly  on  borrowed  money  until  that  time. 

About  the  tenth  of  September  I  was  invited  to  Mr. 
Sheldon's  house  to  meet  for  the  first  time  my  benefac- 
tress, Mrs,  J.  B.  Varnum,  with  her  husband  and  daugh- 
ter. After  tea,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Varnum  came  out  to  the 
gate  with  me,  giving  me  much  kindly  advice  and,  on 
bidding  me  good-bye,  Mrs.  Varnum  slipped  fifty  dollars 
into  my  hand.  With  thirty  dollars  of  that  I  paid  back 
the  money  I  had  borrowed.  I  then  took  table  board 
at  the  Sanitarium,  which  they  kindly  gave  me  at  two 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  71 

dollars  a  week.  From  this  time  on  I  was  able  to  live 
more  comfortably.  All  went  smoothly  through  the  fall 
term  and  I  easily  passed  the  examinations.  The  Christ- 
mas vacation  I  spent  in  my  room  at  college,  while  all 
the  others  went  to  their  homes.  The  following  from  a 
letter  to  my  sister  pictures  my  life  there: 

"  My  college  mates  are  all  gone  and  I  sit  down  in 
my  room  to  contemplate  the  companions  with  whom  I 
am  to  make  Christmas  merry.  There  is  my  English 
dictionary,  a  large  and  sedate  looking  fellow.  By  his 
side  are  Aristotle's  Politics,  Smith's  Political  Econ- 
omy, Locke's  Essay  on  Civil  Government,  Gibbons* 
Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Hallam's 
Middle  Ages,  Motley's  Dutch  Republic,  Hume's 
England  and  De  Tocqueville's  Democracy  in  Amer- 
ica. This,  you  will  think,  is  a  dismal  picture,  yet  why 
should  it  be?  Is  it  not  a  privilege  to  listen  to  and  un- 
derstand the  subtle  reasoning  of  Aristotle,  who  has 
been  a  teacher  of  great  men  for  two  thousand  years ;  to 
follow  Locke  in  his  sublime  theories  of  government? 
Can  a  man  be  alone  with  such  companions?  Or  again 
to  read  and  contemplate  the  histories  of  great  nations 
until  you  become  so  familiar  with  them  that  whole 
nations  seem  to  be  your  companions?  On  your  right 
sits  beautiful  and  refined  Greece  and  on  your  left  old 
Rome  with  her  stern  visage  of  war.  Sitting  with  such 
companions,  can  you  say  that  you  are  alone?  These 
are  noble  thoughts,  to  be  sure,  but  are  they  satisfying? 
These  images  are  indeed  companions  of  the  intellect, 
but  not  of  the  heart.  Step  aside  Greece,  with  all  your 
learning  and  treachery,  and  give  place  to  a  loving  sis- 
ter!    Begone,  stern  Rome  and  let  an  honest  brother 


72  The  Farmer  Boy 

take  your  place !  Let  this  great  world,  past  and  present, 
with  which  I  was  sitting  a  minute  ago  as  a  companion 
of  nations  be  contracted  into  a  home  circle;  let  com- 
panions of  the  intellect  be  changed  for  companions  of 
the  heart,  and  I  will  show  you  where  happiness 
dwells!  " 

The  books  enumerated  above  I  was  studying  as  a 
foundation  for  the  study  of  law  and  politics.  At  the 
end  of  my  diary  for  1865  I  find  a  list  of  fifty-three 
works  I  read  that  year  outside  my  regular  college 
course;  books  on  logic  and  rhetoric,  political  economy 
and  general  literature.  It  was  a  habit  of  mine  after 
we  had  read  a  portion  or  sample  of  any  classical  work 
in  the  original  then  to  read  all  the  rest  of  that  author's 
works  in  translations ;  a  thing  I  would  advise  any  class- 
ical student  to  do.  Otherwise  one  can  get  no  adequate 
idea  and  benefit  of  classical  literature. 

Toward  the  end  of  Christmas  vacation  the  books  I 
had  taken  subscriptions  for  in  the  summer  began  to 
arrive  and  I  spent  several  weeks  delivering  them  about 
the  country  in  a  sleigh.  The  weather  was  very  cold, 
below  zero  much  of  the  time,  and  I  had  no  overcoat,  so 
I  suffered  much  with  the  cold.  When  I  was  through, 
however,  I  had  money  enough  to  pay  the  wholesale 
price  of  the  books,  pay  up  my  debts  and  put  one  hun- 
dred dollars  in  the  bank. 

It  was  the  custom  in  Hobart  College  for  the  Senior 
class  on  Washington's  birthday  to  give  a  public  exhi- 
bition in  the  Opera  House,  which  consisted  of  reading 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  73 

Washington's  farewell  address,  an  original  oration  and 
a  poem.  I  had  been  elected  poet  for  the  occasion 
and  spent  ten  days  and  nights  writing  a  poem  of  four- 
hundred  and  seventy-six  lines.  The  subject  was  the 
Battle  of  Gettysburg  and  the  close  of  the  Civil  War. 
It  was  received  with  much  applause  and  many  con- 
gratulations. 

Although  much  out  of  college  during  the  winter  de- 
livering books  and  on  account  of  some  illness,  I  man- 
aged to  keep  along  in  my  studies  and  passed  the  final 
examinations.  My  standing  was  about  seventh  from 
the  head  of  the  class.  My  spare  time  on  Sundays, 
after  attending  chapel  twice  during  my  Senior  year, 
I  spent  in  reading  aloud  to  a  blind  man,  Mr.  Frank- 
lin, at  the  Sanitarium.  After  getting  the  money  from 
the  sale  of  the  books,  I  began  securing  a  patent  for  a 
stove  invented  by  my  father  many  years  before  and 
which  had  been  used  in  our  family  at  home  for 
twenty-five  years.  In  this  I  succeeded,  though  it 
took  most  of  my  spare  money.  During  the  last  term 
of  college  as  the  studies  were  light,  I  studied  very 
hard  on  the  first  book  of  Blackstone's  "  Commentaries 
on  English  Law." 

On  March  13  and  14,  1866,  I  find  the  following 
entry  in  my  diary :  "  O,  how  the  bright  and  extrava- 
gant hopes  of  my  boyhood  come  up  before  me  as  I 
contemplate  my  weakness,  unable  as  I  now  see  I  am 
from  lack  of  genius  and  opportunity  to  accomplish  the 
great  things  to  which  my  early  ambition  aspired — youth 


74  The  Farmer  Boy 

vanishing  like  a  dream  as  one  approaches  the  age  of 
real  work!  O,  that  I  had  not  such  a  boundless  and 
burning  ambition!  I  now  set  it  down  as  my  great 
aim  in  life,  first  to  gain  Heaven,  and  second  to  gain 
as  much  earthly  fame  as  I  can  by  doing  the  greatest 
possible  good  my  abilities  and  opportunities  will  enable 
me  to  do  to  my  fellow  men.  This  fame,  though  not 
the  loudest  or  most  dazzling  which  I  might  perhaps 
acquire,  will  be  of  the  best  kind.  It  will  not,  it  seems 
to  me,  contravene  my  first  purpose  in  gaining  Fleaven. 
The  particular  means  by  which  I  now  hope  to  gain 
these  ends  are  by  following  the  legal  profession  and 
perhaps  engaging  in  politics.  I  am  led  to  adopt  this 
course  by  a  careful  study  of  my  own  tastes  and  powers 
and  by  the  advice  of  those  who  best  understand  my 
natural  and  acquired  abilities.  I  shall  change  it,  how- 
ever, if  circumstances  seem  to  warrant  it.  If  these 
plans  are  consistent  with  the  infinitely  wise  purpose  of 
God,  I  pray  Him  to  assist  me  in  following  them  and 
resisting  the  temptations  which  will  necessarily  arise 
in  such  a  course.  If  good  things  result  from  my  feeble 
efforts.  His  be  all  the  glory  thereof.  But  if  all  this 
seems  not  best  to  Him,  may  He  give  me  strength  and 
grace  to  bear  my  failures  with  Christian  fortitude  so 
that  my  spirit  be  not  soured  and  distempered  by  dis- 
appointment." 

I  think  I  can  say  without  boasting  that  I  have  kept 
fairly  well  the  second  resolution.  I  can  say  truth- 
fully that  I  never  sought  preferment  and  never  accepted 


Who  Became  a  Bhhop  75 

it  unless  I  tliouglit  it  opened  a  larger  field  for  useful- 
ness. I  never  asked  for  my  Master  of  Arts  degree  and 
did  not  receive  it  for  fifteen  years.  I  never  sought  a 
call  to  a  parish  or  the  episcopate.  I  never  sought  a 
university  degree  and  did  not  receive  my  D.D.  and 
L.L.D.  until  after  I  was  elected  bishop.  It  is  doubtful 
if  I  deserved  either  of  them. 

My  commencement  oration  was  on  the  subject  of 
ambition  under  the  title  of  "  Justice  to  Caesar,"  in 
which  I  poured  out  my  soul  in  justifying  a  laudable 
ambition.  I  was  not  cheered  as  I  came  onto  the  stage, 
as  many  of  my  classmates  were,  for  I  had  few  ac- 
quaintances in  the  town.  I  ended  my  oration  with  these 
words :  '*  Despise  not  the  powers  which  God  has  given 
us,  but  boldly  use  them  for  our  own  improvement  and 
the  good  of  our  race.  Choose  in  life  that  sphere  of 
action  in  which  our  abilities  enable  us  to  excel  and  in 
it  he  amhiiious  to  become  the  first  and  best.  There  let 
us  toil  on,  determined  while  we  live  to  stand  foremost 
in  the  ranks  of  men. 

And  when  we  die  to  leave  our  name 

A  light,  a  landmark,  on  the  cliffs  of  fame.'  " 

When  I  closed  I  was  surprised  and  nearly  over- 
come by  the  deafening  applause  and  the  shower  of 
bouquets  which  were  thrown  upon  the  stage.  Some  of 
our  ablest  professors  left  the  audience  and  came  be- 
hind the  stage  to  congratulate  me. 

The  following  from  a  letter  to  my  sister  expresses 
my  feelings  on  leaving  college  and  Geneva:     "To- 


76  The  Farmer  Bo}f 

morrow  I  pack  my  trunk,  soon  to  bid  adieu  to  this 
fair  town  forever.  I  shall  not  look  back  upon  it  as  a 
place  where  I  have  passed  four  years  of  unbroken 
happiness,  but  as  a  place  where  I  have  passed  four 
years  of  faithful  study,  where  I  have  endured  some 
hardships,  have  had  comparatively  few  pleasures  ex- 
cept such  as  come  from  the  satisfaction  of  duty  per- 
formed, have  achieved  some  successes,  have  made  few 
friendships,  but  those  of  the  truest  and  deepest  kind. 
Though  I  drop  a  tear  on  leaving  Geneva,  yet  my  feel- 
ings for  the  most  part  are  those  rather  of  gratitude  than 
regret.  Grateful  I  am  that  a  kind  Providence  has 
given  me  health,  friends,  pecuniary  aid,  energy  and 
perseverance  to  accomplish  my  purpose  here,  the  pros- 
pect of  achieving  which  has  at  times  seemed  so  dubious ; 
grateful  that  I  have  not  wasted  my  time  in  foolish 
sports,  or  in  frivolous  society.  I  have  chiefly  to  regret 
that  in  my  efforts  to  lead  a  true  Christian  life  and  be 
an  example  to  my  schoolmates,  I  have  often  fallen  far 
short  of  the  standard.  I  believe,  however,  my  failures 
in  this  respect  have  generally  resulted  from  ignorance, 
not  vice." 


CHAPTER  X. 

TEACHING  AND  BUSINESS. 

ID  EFORE  graduating  I  had  engaged  to  become 
"■-^  principal  of  the  Ury  House  School  for  Boys 
near  Philadelphia  for  five  hundred  dollars  a  year  with 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  11 

board  and  keep.  The  summer  vacation  I  spent  with 
an  aged  aunt  at  Fairfax,  Vermont,  studying  Kent's 
"  Commentary  on  American  Law."  I  studied  eight 
hours  a  day,  taking  fifty  pages  in  advance  and  fifty 
pages  in  review  each  day  and  making  a  written 
abstract  or  analysis  of  the  review. 

Early  in  September  I  went  to  teach  the  school  near 
Philadelphia,  visiting  my  uncle's  family  in  Rutland, 
Vermont,  on  the  way.  I  found  the  school  was  kept  in 
an  old  family  mansion  near  the  post  office  of  Fox  Chase 
about  nine  miles  north  of  Philadelphia.  A  long  avenue 
of  large  pine  trees  led  from  the  house  to  the  country 
road  and  all  the  surroundings  along  the  Pennypacker 
Creek  were  picturesque  and  beautiful.  There  were 
about  thirty  boys  in  the  school.  The  older  ones,  many 
of  whom  were  preparing  for  college,  were  under  my 
care.  Mrs.  Crawford,  the  owner  of  the  school,  was 
a  middle  aged  widow,  whose  husband  had  lost  his 
property  in  New  Orleans  during  the  Civil  War.  This 
beautiful  country  home  of  one  hundred  acres  was  in 
her  name  and  all  she  had  left  except  six  sons,  whom 
she  had  to  educate.  She  began  her  school  on  their 
account  and  took  in  other  boys  until  it  developed  into 
Ury  House  School.  She  was  a  refined  English  lady 
and  the  boys  in  the  school  were  from  the  best  families 
in  and  around  Philadelphia.  I  had  a  most  delightful 
year  and  saved  nearly  all  my  wages.  Out  of  school 
hours  I  was  a  boy  with  the  boys  and  joined  in  all  their 
sports. 


78  The  Farmer  Do^ 

In  October  the  patent  on  my  father's  stove  was 
issued,  the  securing  of  which  had  cost  me  about  a 
hundred  dollars.  During  the  year  I  was  planning  how 
I  could  get  up  patterns  to  show  to  the  manufacturers. 
My  father  was  aged  and  in  poor  health,  so  he  could 
not  attend  to  that  part  of  the  undertaking. 

On  the  fourth  of  November  I  find  the  following 
entry  in  my  diary:  "  I  find  that  the  great  desire  of  my 
early  youth,  political  fame,  is  fast  vanishing  away — 
not  because  I  fear  I  could  not  attain  eminence  in  that 
field,  for  I  think  I  could  if  I  devoted  my  entire  energies 
to  it.  Somehow  I  care  not  for  the  things  I  once  longed 
for,  nor  has  their  place  been  filled  by  new  objects  of 
desire.  My  enthusiasm  for  the  practice  of  law  has 
declined  with  the  desire  for  political  distinction.  It  is 
still  my  highest  wish  to  do  the  greatest  possible  good 
to  my  fellow  men  and  to  work  out  my  own  salvation. 
Why  not,  then,  study  for  the  ministry?  I  can  hardly 
tell  why,  but  sometimes  it  seems  as  though  my  work 
is  to  be  a  peculiar  one.  I  diligently  improve  the  present 
in  gaining  general  knowledge  and  leaving  the  future  to 
God,  believing  that  He  will  guide  me  by  circumstances 
into  the  path  I  am  to  pursue  and  will  give  me  strength 
as  I  need  in  my  journey  through  it.  With  this  prayer 
in  my  heart  I  work,  watch  and  wait."  At  this  time  I 
was  reading  an  hour  each  day  in  Blackstone  and  an 
hour  in  general  literature  besides  teaching  the  school. 

"  February  9,  1 867.  Am  not  very  happy  these  days 
— deep  thoughts  and  misgivings  about  the  future." 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  79 

"  March  24.  While  in  church  to-day  I  thought 
more  seriously  about  studying  for  the  nninistry  than  ever 
before." 

"  April  1 9,  Finished  the  third  and  fourth  volumes 
of  Kent's  '  Commentaries  on  American  Law.'  " 

"  May  25.  I  have  been  devoting  all  my  spare  time 
lately  to  Spanish  and  finished  to-day  *  Cllendorf's 
Method.'  Shall  begin  translating  '  Don  Quixote  '  next 
week.  To-day  Mrs.  Crawford  offered  to  raise  my 
salary  another  three  hundred  dollars  if  I  would  stay 
by  the  school  another  year." 

On  the  twenty-first  of  June  the  school  closed  for  the 
year  and  I  received  fine  presents  both  from  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford and  the  boys  of  the  school.  On  the  whole,  the 
year  was  a  happy  and  profitable  one  to  me.  Besides 
finishing  the  study  of  Blackstone  and  Kent  in  law,  and 
becoming  well  grounded  in  the  Spanish  language,  I 
read  about  forty  works  of  general  literature.  I  spent 
many  evenings  socially  with  the  refined  people  of  the 
neighborhood. 

Immediately  after  the  close  of  the  school  I  started 
for  my  home  m  Illinois.  I  spent  the  next  three  months 
in  getting  up  patterns  for  the  stove  my  father  and  I 
had  patented  and  making  the  first  stove  for  exhibition. 
To  do  this  I  walked  three  miles  and  a  half  each  morn- 
ing to  the  shop,  worked  all  day  with  the  patternmaker 
and  walked  home  at  night.  About  the  first  of  October 
I  took  the  stove  to  Chicago,  Albany,  Troy  and  Phila- 
delphia, exhibiting  it  to  the  large  manufacturers.     All 


80  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

were  pleased  with  the  working  excellencies  and  unique 
principles,  but  objected  to  its  round  form  as  being 
likely  to  injure  its  sale.  I  made  a  new  drawing  to  im- 
prove the  appearance,  but  as  a  new  set  of  patterns 
would  cost  about  five  hundred  dollars  and  the  money 
I  had  saved  teaching  was  about  gone,  I  had  to  give  up 
for  the  present  the  stove  enterprise.  It  was  now  the 
middle  of  January  and  I  was  obHged  to  do  something 
to  replenish  my  treasury.  For  this  purpose  I  under- 
took selling  rubber  stamps,  a  new  thing  then.  I  trav- 
eled all  over  eastern  Pennsylvania  and  in  four  months 
cleared  six  hundred  dollars  above  expenses.  I  had  the 
asthma  badly  at  first,  which  left  me  with  a  cough  which 
I  feared  would  run  into  consumption.  I  finally  recov- 
ered, though  it  left  a  weak  spot  in  my  right  lung.  In 
the  latter  part  of  May  I  again  visited  the  stove  manu- 
facturers in  Philadelphia,  showing  them  a  new  model  I 
had  made,  but  they  all  discouraged  me,  saying  that  I 
could  not  go  on  without  a  large  capital.  I  could  see 
now  that  all  my  efforts  to  introduce  the  stove  would  be 
a  failure  unless  I  devoted  ten  or  a  dozen  years  of  my 
life  to  it  and  I  did  not  care  enough  for  a  fortune,  how- 
ever large,  to  do  that.  The  time  had  come  when  I 
must  return  to  the  study  of  law  or  recast  my  life  plans. 
All  one  night  in  my  boarding  house  in  Philadelphia  I 
walked  the  floor  and  after  many  tears  over  the  dying 
hopes  of  my  youth,  decided  to  look  toward  the  ministry 
of  the  Church.  Still,  to  satisfy  my  father  and  leave 
no  stone  unturned  toward  making  the  stove  a  success,  I 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  81 

revisited  Albany,  Troy  and  Chicago,  showing  my  new 
model.  I  received  no  encouragement  unless  I  would 
devote  my  own  time  and  ingenuity  to  bringing  the  stove 
to  perfection  in  outward  appearance.  As  that  might 
take  years  and  deprive  me  of  any  other  career,  I  would 
not  do  it.  Besides,  my  father,  who  was  old  and  feeble, 
was  not  likely  to  live  long  enough  to  reap  any  advantage 
from  it  when  it  should  succeed.  I  returned  home  with 
a  heavy  heart  to  report  to  my  father  the  failure  after 
a  year  of  earnest  effort.  The  time  had  not  been  alto- 
gether lost  as  I  had  learned  much  of  the  world  and 
business  methods. 

The  following  letter  to  Mrs.  Varnum  explains  the 
change  in  my  life  plans: 

"  Marengo,  III.,  Aug.  31,  1868. 
"  Mp  dear  Mrs.  Varnum  : 

"  At  the  time  I  wrote  you  last  I  was  engaged  in 
selling  a  rubber  hand  press.  I  worked  at  that  business 
four  months,  saving  one  hundred  dollars  more  than  I 
earned  in  the  previous  year  teaching.  I  then  renewed 
my  previous  efforts  to  introduce  the  stove.  In  that  I 
succeeded  indifferently.  I  have  had  some  offers  which 
others  have  considered  good,  but  they  were  such  as 
would  oblige  me  to  make  the  stove  business  my  voca- 
tion in  life.  That  I  would  not  do,  if  I  were  sure  of 
making  a  fortune  at  it.  I  was  unable  to  sell  it  as  you 
proposed  in  your  letter.  In  order  to  put  it  in  a  shape 
to  sell  the  entire  right  I  should  have  to  spend  two  or 
three  years  more  on  it  and  considerable  capital.  By 
that  time  it  would  probably  be  too  late  to  do  my  parents 
any  good,  judging  from  their  present  state  of  health. 


82  The  Farmer  Boy 

It  became,  therefore,  a  mere  personal  question  with  my- 
self, and  I  was  unable  to  see  in  wealth  a  sufficient  re- 
ward for  a  life  of  such  toil.  Hence,  I  have  decided 
to  drop  the  stove  and  choose  a  profession  more  suited 
to  my  tastes  and  desires — one  whose  reward,  if  I  prove 
an  acceptable  worker,  will  be  not  of  the  earth  earthy, 
but  of  life  eternal. 

"  I  have  for  some  time  looked  upon  the  Christian 
ministry  as  the  only  great  work  in  which  one  could 
engage  with  a  conscience  void  of  all  offence  and  with 
the  feeling  that  every  hour  of  toil  was  spent  in  his  great 
Master's  vineyard.  I  know  that  I  am  all  unworthy 
of  such  a  glorious  work,  but  I  trust  that  my  Saviour  will 
give  me  strength  and  a  right  spirit  to  prosecute  it  suc- 
cessfully and  acceptably, 

"  I  hardly  know  how  you,  who  have  ever  taken  so 
kindly  an  interest  in  my  welfare,  will  look  upon  my 
decision,  but  you  were  too  far  away  to  consult.  Judg- 
ing, however,  from  the  general  nature  of  your  advice 
and  admonitions,  both  oral  and  written,  I  hardly  think 
you  will  disapprove. 

"  I  leave  here  the  last  of  this  week  to  make  my 
friends  in  Rutland,  Vermont,  a  visit  and  thence  pro- 
ceed to  the  General  Theological  Seminary  in  New 
York  City.  I  hope  to  enter  a  year  in  advance,  so  it  will 
take  but  two  years  before  I  can  be  ordained  deacon. 
I  have  been  working  this  summer  on  the  studies  they 
pursue  the  first  year  and  shall  have  to  study  very  hard 
all  the  fall. 

*'  The  health  of  my  parents,  as  I  intimated  above,  is 
very  poor  indeed.  My  Father  coughs  very  badly 
and  has  failed  much  in  the  past  year.  My  Mother 
is  failing  all  the  time,  but  not  so  rapidly  as  Father.     I 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  83 

greatly  fear  that  when  I  leave  them  this  fall,  I  shall 
never  see  them  again.  This  will  make  my  parting 
with  them  a  very  sad  one. 

"  I  long  very  much  to  hear  of  the  continued  suc- 
cess of  your  travels  and  of  improvement  in  your  health 
and  happiness.  I  have  just  been  rereadmg  your  last 
letter  which  has  recalled  with  painful  vividness  the 
hope  I  used  to  entertain  of  some  day  visiting  those 
places  whose  very  name  cause  my  heart  to  beat  with 
enthusiasm.  But  the,  in  one  sense,  humble  calling  I 
have  chosen  will  hardly  afford  me  the  means  or  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so.  It  causes  me,  I  assure  you,  no  small 
degree  of  pain  to  think  that  this,  like  many  other  fond 
hopes,  is  proving  but  an  idle  dream — not  only  not  to  be 
realized,  but  not  even  to  be  dreamed  again.  But  I 
thank  my  God  that  there  is  a  brighter  hope — that  after 
all  the  disappointments  of  this  life  I  shall,  if  I  am 
faithful,  receive  mine  own  with  usury  at  the  last  great 
day. 

"  Please  give  my  kindest  regards  to  Miss  Varnum 
and  Miss  Coburn  and 

"  Believe  me  as  ever 

"  Your  affectionate  young  friend, 

"  Anson  R.  Graves." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SEMINARY    LIFE 


T~^URING  the  summer  at  home  I  studied  Greek 
-'— ^  Testament  in  the  forenoons  and  worked  in  the 
field  with  my  brother  Daniel  in  the  afternoons.     In  Oc- 


84  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

tober  I  entered  the  General  Theological  Seminary,  New 
York  City,  passing  examinations  for  the  middle  class,  or 
second  year,  except  in  Hebrew,  which  I  had  not 
studied.  I  decided,  however,  to  enter  the  junior  year 
instead  of  making  up  Hebrew.  In  November  I  was 
offered  the  Professorship  of  Mathematics  in  St.  Steph- 
en's College  at  a  salary  of  one  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
with  the  opportunity  of  continuing  my  Theological 
studies  under  Rev.  Dr.  Fairbairn,  the  President  of  the 
College.  I  took  counsel  with  Rev.  Dr.  Seabury,  Sr., 
who  said  if  I  intended  to  devote  my  life  to  educational 
work,  I  better  accept  the  offer,  but  if  I  preferred  the 
work  of  a  parish  priest,  I  better  keep  on  in  the  Semi- 
nary. As  the  latter  was  my  intention,  I  decided  to 
decline  the  professorship.  Still  the  offer  was  quite  an 
honor  and  a  temptation.  On  the  twelfth  of  Decem- 
ber the  Faculty  of  the  Seminary  offered  of  their  own 
accord  to  advance  me  and  a  classmate,  A.  D.  Miller,  to 
the  middle  class,  v/hich  was  accordingly  done. 

I  spent  the  Christmas  vacation  very  happily  in  my 
Uncle's  family  at  Rutland,  Vermont.  During  the  rest 
of  the  year  I  worked  very  hard  in  the  Seminary  making 
up  the  Hebrew  and  the  other  studies  passed  over  in 
junior  year.  The  first  of  May  I  took  charge  of  the 
Sunday  school  of  five  hundred  children  at  All  Saints' 
Church,  New  York,  and  did  lay  reading  for  the  rector 
at  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year.  While  there 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Mary  Louise  Van 
Wagenen,  who  had  charge  of  the  infant  class  of  sixty 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  85 

children.  She  became  a  Hfe-long  friend  and  in  later 
years  a  generous  contributor  to  my  missionary  work. 
This  work  at  All  Saints  proved  too  hard  for  me  in 
addition  to  my  Seminary  studies  so  that  one  Sunday  I 
fainted  in  church  and  was  sick  for  some  time.  How- 
ever, I  passed  my  examinations  at  the  end  of  the  year 
with  credit,  but  it  had  been  a  very  hard  year. 

During  the  summer  vacation  I  remained  at  the  Sem- 
inary, writing  sermons  the  first  part  of  it  and  later 
worked  under  the  direction  of  Rev.  Dr.  Dix  collecting 
funds  in  the  Diocese  of  New  York  toward  the  en- 
dowment of  the  Diocese  of  Albany.  The  next  year 
I  carried  on  the  Sunday  school  work  at  All  Saints' 
Church  and  finished  my  course  in  the  Seminary.  I 
graduated  and  was  ordained  deacon  in  the  Church  of 
the  Transfiguration,  New  York,  by  Bishop  Horatio 
Potter  in  June,  1870. 

In  the  Seminary  my  warmest  friends  among  the 
students  were  Rev.  W.  B.  T.  Smith  and  Rev.  J.  Lewis 
Parks.  I  graduated  in  the  same  class  as  Rt.  Rev. 
Edwin  G.  Weed,  who  was  the  first  one  in  our  class 
and  the  only  one  except  myself  to  become  a  bishop.  I 
made  other  friends,  many  of  whom  have  done  noble 
work  in  the  Church  and  passed  to  their  reward. 

As  I  had  spent  only  two  years  in  the  Seminary,  I 
hardly  felt  like  entering  at  once  upon  independent  work 
as  rector  of  a  parish.  I  felt  the  need  of  further  prepara- 
tion and  study.  Accordingly,  before  my  ordination 
and  with  the  consent  of  my  Bishop,  I  engaged  to  be- 


86  The  Farmer  Boy 

come  for  a  year  the  assistant,  or  curate,  of  Rev.  Dr.  B. 
H.  Paddock,  the  rector  of  Grace  Church,  Brooklyn 
Heights.  He  was  a  faithful  and  systematic  parish 
priest  and  my  home  in  his  family  was  delightful.  I 
learned  many  things  from  his  methods  and  those  of  his 
predecessor.  Dr.  E.  A.  Hoffman.  My  duties  were  to 
assist  at  all  services,  superintend  the  Sunday  school  and 
call  on  all  non-pew-holders,  of  whom  there  were  a 
great  many  among  the  poor.  I  had  very  little  preaching 
to  do  except  when  the  rector  was  away  on  his  summer 
vacation.  I  spent  rny  forenoons  studying  and  preparing 
sermons,  taking  the  greatest  pains  with  the  sermons. 
Often  I  spent  two  weeks  on  a  sermon,  making  it  the 
very  best  I  possibly  could.  I  have  not  been  ashamed 
to  use  all  my  life  some  of  the  sermons  I  wrote  while  a 
deacon.  The  afternoons  I  devoted  to  making  calls, 
going  the  full  round  every  month.  The  year  passed 
pleasantly  and  profitably. 

The  special  event  to  me  this  year  was  the  death  of 
my  dear  friend  and  patroness,  Mrs.  Joseph  B.  Varnum. 
From  the  time  she  saw  me  when  I  was  in  college  to 
her  death  she  had  taken  a  lively  interest  in  my  welfare, 
occasionally  sending  me  gifts  to  help  me  along.  Much 
of  that  time  she  was  in  Europe,  but  we  had  corre- 
sponded steadily.  At  her  death,  she  left  me  two  thou- 
sand dollars  in  her  will  with  the  expressed  wish  that  I 
should  travel  abroad.  This  made  it  possible  for  me 
to  realize  a  long-cherished  wish.  As  soon  as  my  year 
was  over  at  Grace  Church,  I  prepa-red  to  go.     One  of 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  87 

the  wardens  of  the  church,  Mr.  Henry  E.  Pierrepont, 
Sr.,  added  one  hundred  dollars  to  my  purse.  On  the 
fourth  of  June,  1871,  r  was  ordained  priest  with  my 
friend,  A.  D.  Miller,  in  Holy  Trinity  Church,  Brook- 
lyn, New  York,  by  Bishop  Littlejohn.  On  June  24th  I 
took  the  steamer  with  not  a  person  on  board  I  had  ever 
seen  before. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

EUROPE. 

ON  the  steamer,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  Phillips  and  a  Mr.  Van 
der  Wielen.  Mr.  Phillips  was  editor  of  the  New 
York  Home  Journal.  Mr.  Van  der  Wielen  was  a 
native  of  Holland,  but  for  a  number  of  years  had  been 
a  teacher  of  fine  arts  in  Philadelphia.  As  their  line  of 
travel  coincided  with  mine  for  a  while,  we  arranged 
to  keep  together  through  Ireland  and  Wales.  The 
Fourth  of  July  was  celebrated  on  shipboard  by  the 
firing  of  a  salute,  an  oration,  a  poem  and  singing  of 
national  airs. 

On  landing  at  Queenstown  we  went  immediately  to 
Cork  and  from  there  visited  Blarney  Castle  in  a  jaunt- 
ing car.  The  things  that  impressed  me  most  were  the 
light  green,  almost  yellow,  color  of  vegetation,  the 
beggar  boys  running  after  our  car  and  the  men  and 


88  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

women  in  the  fields  trying  to  make  hay  in  the  rain.  It 
was  with  the  greatest  difficuhy  that  they  could  make 
hay  or  save  the  crops  that  year,  for  it  rained  every  day 
except  three  where  I  was  for  the  next  month.  Blarney 
Castle  was  the  first  castle  I  ever  saw  and  I  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  curious  passages  through  the  walls, 
the  caves  underneath,  the  witches'  kitchen  and  the  stair- 
way in  the  center  of  the  wall.  Of  course,  we  kissed 
the  Blarney  Stone,  Mr.  Phillips  holding  me  by  the 
coat  while  I  hung  down  head  first  to  reach  it  and  then 
I  did  the  same  for  him.  At  the  Lakes  of  Killarney  we 
went  around  through  the  Gap  of  Dunloe  and  back 
through  the  Lakes,  We  drank  the  goat's  milk  offered 
for  sale  by  the  bare-footed,  fresh  looking  Irish  girls, 
but  declined  the  "  mountain  dew,"  whiskey,  which  they 
also  offered  for  sale.  From  there  we  visited  the  sights 
of  Dublin,  then  crossing  the  Irish  Sea  we  enjoyed  the 
grand  scenery  of  North  Wales  until  we  came  to  Ches- 
ter in  England.  There  my  friends  left  me  for  Lon- 
don and  I  turned  north  through  Liverpool  and  Lan- 
caster to  Furness  Abbey  in  the  Lake  Country  of  Eng- 
land. I  had  planned  to  walk  all  through  the  Lake 
Country,  but  was  taken  sick  at  Furness  Abbey  and  was 
obliged  to  take  the  stages. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  write  a  book  of  travels  nor 
describe  all  I  saw  in  the  next  eleven  months,  but  only 
give  an  outline  of  the  course  I  took  and  speak  of  a 
few  things  which  impressed  me  most.  A  few  quota- 
tions from  memoranda  made  at  the  time  or  from  letters 


i 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  89 

written  from  various  places  will  perhaps  best  express 
my  impressions: 

"  Grasmere,  July  14th,  1871.  Surrounded  by  the 
noblest  mountains,  alone  in  the  quietest  churchyard, 
sitting  by  the  grave  of  Wordsworth!  Whether  he  had 
much  genius  or  little,  let  critics  decide.  At  all  events, 
he  was  a  good  man  and  the  good  alone  are  great.  If 
those  who  had  more  genius  were  to  crown  it  as  he  did 
with  Godliness,  they  might  make  this  world  a  sunnier 
and  better  one.  I  wish  I  were  more  like  Wordsworth, 
appreciating  and  loving  better  the  things  he  loved." 

From  Carlisle  I  went  through  southern  Scotland. 
One  day  I  devoted  to  the  land  of  Burns,  beginning  with 
his  grave  at  Dumfries  and  ending  with  his  birth  place 
at  Ayr.  During  the  early  part  of  the  day,  I  was  de- 
pressed by  a  spirit  of  sadness  and  I  could  recall  nothing 
but  the  serious  poems  of  Burns  and  the  misfortunes  of 
his  life.  This  feeling  culminated  when  I  passed  the 
*'  Woods  of  Montgomery  "  and  repeated  what  I  could 
of  *'  Highland  Mary."  A  great  change  came  over  my 
spirits  when  I  arrived  at  Ayr,  walked  along  the  road 
taken  by  Tam  O'Shanter,  looked  into  old  Alloway 
Kirk  and  stood  on  the  Brig  o'  Doon.  I  became  as 
merry  as  a  bird  in  spring.  About  these  places  were 
two  hundred  Scotch  lads  and  lasses,  who  had  come  on 
an  excursion  from  Glasgow.  Some  of  these  were 
dancing  hornpipes,  some  in  groups  on  the  grass  eating 
luncheon  and  some  frolicking  in  a  familiar  way  which 
recalled  many  a  couplet  from  the  poetry  of  Burns. 


90  The  Farmer  Boy 

The  day  I  spent  in  the  land  of  Burns  was  to  me  a  great 
day  full  of  noble  impressions  and  pleasant  recollections. 

Abbotsford  and  the  land  of  Scott  was  equally  full 
of  interest,  but  I  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  soHtude 
for  receiving  impressions.  In  company  with  a  dozen 
others  I  was  hurried  through  Scott's  house,  Abbottsford, 
and  shown  a  hundred  objects  of  interest  in  half  an 
hour.  "  This  is  the  picture  of  Sir  Walter  when  a  child 
and  this  the  snuff  box  of  Napoleon;  this  the  desk  where 
Sir  Walter  wrote  his  novels  and  this  the  seal  of  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots;  this  the  bust  of  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie 
and  these  swords  from  the  battle  of  Flodden  Field,  etc., 
etc."  If  I  had  had  time  to  sufficiently  contemplate  the 
wonderful  objects,  perhaps  Rob  Roy's  gun  might  have 
inspired  me  to  write  a  border  song,  or  Bruce's  armor  an 
oration,  or  the  keys  of  the  Old  Talbooth  a  moral  ser- 
mon. Possibly  I  might  have  absorbed  from  Sir  Wal- 
ter's last  suit  of  clothes  something  of  that  power  which 
enabled  its  wearer  to  create  all  those  characters  which 
have  become  to  us  synonyms  of  good  or  evil  people. 

I  was  greatly  interested  in  Lochs  Lomond  and  Ka- 
trine, Stirling  and  Edinburgh  Castles,  Dryburgh  and 
Melrose  Abbeys,  but  the  continued  rain  and  my  weak- 
ness from  the  bilious  attack  dampened  the  joy.  In 
eastern  and  central  England  I  visited  Durham,  Ripon, 
Lincoln,  Rugby,  Kenilworth,  Stratford,  Oxford,  and 
London.  England,  on  the  whole,  I  found  about  as  I 
expected.  I  was  neither  disappointed  nor  much  sur- 
prised.    In  better  health  and  under  pleasanter  circum- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  91 

stances,  I  might  have  entered  more  fully  into  the  spirit 
of  what  I  saw. 

*'  Antwerp,  Aug.  5th,  1871. 

*'  I  am  not  a  critic  of  paintings,  and  I  am  thankful 
that  I  am  not.  Yesterday,  in  the  cathedral  here,  I 
stood  before  the  great  master  work  of  Rubens,  '  The 
Descent  from  the  Cross.'  Others  praised  the  shading 
and  the  coloring,  discussed  it  in  detail  and  then  passed 
on.  After  they  were  done,  I  sat  down  before  the 
picture  and  gazed  upon  its  speaking  surface.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  comprehend  the  tale  it  told.  A  dead 
Christ  was  written  on  every  inch  of  the  canvas.  It  was 
in  the  careful,  tearful  faces  of  the  disciples,  in  the  de- 
sponding features  of  the  women  at  the  foot  of  the  cross 
and  above  all  in  the  pallid,  corpse-like  face  and  form  of 
Jesus.  What  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  those  dis- 
ciples engaged  in  the  sad  duty  of  removing  him  from 
the  cross  to  the  grave,  not  anticipating  the  resurrection 
and  the  glorious  things  that  followed !  We  can  almost 
hear  them  say,  '  We  trusted  it  had  been  he  which  should 
have  redeemed  Israel.'  We  now  know  the  end  of  the 
story  when  we  read  about  the  cross,  hence  our  difficulty 
in  realizing  that  Jesus  was  actually  dead.  It  seems 
more  to  us  as  though  he  swooned  away  and  revived  on 
Easter.  But  there  is  the  truth  on  the  canvas  in  all  its 
dreadful  reality.  That  body  is  heavy,  helpless,  lifeless 
and  those  rigid  features,  though  expressive  of  all  he 
suffered,  are  now  as  cold  and  senseless  as  the  wood  or 
nails  of  the  cross  itself. 

"  To-day,  as  I  was  going  through  a  street  in  Ant- 
werp, I  saw  a  little  girl  standing  by  a  very  large  pump 
with  a  pitcher  partly  filled  with  water.  As  I  came 
along,  she  offered  me  a  drink,  which  offer  I  accepted. 


92  The  Farmer  Boy 

I  then  took  hold  of  the  great  handle  and  by  a  single 
stroke  refilled  the  pitcher.  Another  little  girl,  who  had 
observed  the  act,  came  running  across  the  street  and 
put  her  little  hand  trustfully  in  mine.  She  did  not  say 
a  word  in  her  native  Flemish  nor  I  one  in  English,  but 
while  I  looked  down  into  her  face  and  she  up  into  mine, 
much  passed  between  us  in  that  higher,  common  lan- 
guage which  God  was  pleased  to  grant  even  to  the  chil- 
dren of  Babel.  I  have  since  prayed  for  her  in  English 
and  perhaps  the  stranger  gentleman,  whose  name  she 
will  never  know  in  this  world,  has  been  interwoven  with 
her  Flemish  prayer.  God  grant  it  be  so,  for  He  well 
knows  I  need  the  prayers  of  those  who  are  more  simple 
and  more  trustful  than  myself.  I  saw  some  little  children 
cross  themselves  with  holy  water  as  they  left  the  cathe- 
dral. Perhaps  that  little  act  in  them  was  as  accept- 
able to  God  as  the  sermons  of  us  rigid  thinkers  against 
idolatry  and  superstition." 

Before  reaching  Antwerp,  I  had  visited  the  cities  of 
Belgium  and  there  picked  up  my  steamer  friend,  Mr. 
Van  der  Wielen,  who  was  to  travel  with  me  through 
Switzerland.  Together  we  visited  Aix  la  Chapel  and 
Dusseldorf.  At  the  latter  place,  his  eyes,  which  had 
failed  and  prevented  him  from  becoming  an  artist,  were 
examined  by  the  great  oculist.  Doctor  Moren.  An 
operation  would  be  necessary,  but  the  Doctor  told  him 
to  go  on  through  Switzerland  and  build  up  his  physical 
strength  first.  Up  the  Rhine  together  we  went,  by  all 
the  castles  and  ruins  where  even  Spain  and  Sweden  had 
once  contended  for  the  mastery.  We  stopped  at  Co- 
logne, the  Drachenfels,  Coblentz,  Frankfort,  Heidel- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  93 

berg  and  Strassburg.  In  Switzerland  we  visited  Basle 
and  Bern,  then  on  foot  and  by  boat  to  the  lakes  and 
falls,  then  over  the  Great  Scheideck  to  Grindelwald, 
over  Wengern  Alp  where  we  saw  the  great  avalanches 
and  heard  them  thundering  down  from  the  Jungfrau, 
thence  down  to  Lauterbrunnen  and  to  Geneva.  From 
there  we  went  through  Lake  Geneva  to  the  Prison  of 
Chillon  and  by  rail  to  Martigny,  then  two  weeks  on 
foot  to  Chamouni  and  the  great  glacier  there,  thence 
up  to  the  Hospice  of  Saint  Bernard,  where  we  saw  the 
famous  dogs,  one  of  which  had  saved  fifteen  \i\?,?,, 
thence  up  the  Rhone  Valley  to  tJie  Rhoner  glacier, 
over  the  Furca  Pass  and  down  to  Altdorf,  where 
William  Tell  is  said  to  have  shot  the  apple  off  his 
son's  head.  We  climbed  Mount  Rigi  to  see  the  sun 
set  and  the  Alpen  glow  on  the  distant  snow-capped 
mountains  then  came  to  Lucerne.  Here  Mr.  Van  der 
Wielen  left  me  for  his  Doctor  in  Dusseldorf. 

Here  I  found  my  Seminary  friend.  Rev.  W.  B.  T. 
Smith,  in  charge  of  two  boys.  The  four  of  us  then 
walked  through  North  Switzerland,  via  Shauffhausen 
and  Constance,  sometimes  taking  boat  or  cars  for  short 
distances,  then  on  foot  seventy  miles  through  the  Ba- 
varian Alps  to  Oberammergau.  There  we  saw  the 
famous  Passion  Play  on  the  tenth  of  September.  Here 
Mr.  Smith  and  his  boys  left  me  to  go  through  the 
Tyrol,  while  I  turned  north  into  Germany. 

The  evening  I  left  Oberammergau,  I  had  a  thrilling 
experience  in  crossing  a  spur  of  a  mountain  by  an  un- 


94  The  Farmer  Bov 

frequented  foot  path.  It  became  very  dark  when  I 
was  on  the  summit  and  I  had  to  grope  my  way  through 
the  forest  down  the  mountain.  At  length  I  saw  a  dim 
hght  and  came  to  a  shepherd's  coitage.  Here  were  sev- 
eral rough-looking  men  who  dnecled  me  across  a 
marshy  plain  full  of  ditches.  It  was  so  dark  that  I 
had  to  feel  for  the  path  and  the  planks  across  the  ditches 
with  my  Alpine  stock.  I  arrived  at  the  little  inn  of 
Eschenlohe  about  ten  o'clock.  The  next  morning  I 
walked  twenty-four  miles  before  one  o'clock  to  Wil- 
heim,  where  I  took  the  train  to  Munich. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GERMANY. 

T  N  Germany,  I  visited  in  the  following  order  Munich, 
^  Prague,  Dresden,  Berlin,  Postdam,  Leipsic,  Nur- 
emberg, Stuttgart  and  Ulm.  An  extract  from  a  letter 
written  to  my  life-long  friend,  Philip  Potter,  will  show 
the  spirit  with  which  I  appreciated  and  enjoyed  the 
things  I  saw: 

"  Nuremberg,  Germany,  Oct.  1st.  1871. 
"  My  dear  Philip : 

"  It  is  Sunday  afternoon,  cold  and  rainy,  and  I  am 
going  to  begin  a  letter  to  you.  Nuremberg  is  just  the 
quaintest  old  town  you  ever  saw,  or  I  either.     In  an  art 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  95 

exhibition  in  Brooklyn,  I  once  saw  a  painting  called 
*  Nuremberg  by  Moonlight,'  and  I  looked  at  it  for  a 
long  time.  It  so  happened  that  I  entered  the  town  by 
moonlight  and  leaving  my  bag  at  a  hotel,  I  strolled 
through  the  town.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  and  the 
streets  were  deserted,  so  I  indulged  in  the  very  pleasant 
habit  of  putting  my  hands  in  my  pockets  and  talking 
to  myself.  '  Quaint  old  town  this,  sure  enough!  Some 
streets  very  wide,  with  the  moon  shining  down  on  the 
pavements — others  very  narrow  and  very  dark — no 
moonshine  at  all !  What  big  houses  with  high,  pointed 
roofs  and  with  gable  ends  to  the  street !  I  wonder  how 
they  happened  to  be  so?  I  suppose  some  Titan  played 
a  trick  on  the  sleeping  burghers  and  turned  the  houses 
round  endwise  to  the  street.  But  how  high  they  are! 
There  is  one  that  looks  like  a  pyramid  of  Egypt.  Let 
me  count  the  stories.  One,  two,  three  up  to  the  eaves ; 
above  the  eaves  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six!  What  a 
garret  there  must  be!  Up  to  the  front  edges  of  the 
roof  there  is  something  like  a  flight  of  stairs,  only  very 
big  steps,  made  for  ghosts  to  climb,  I  suppose.  WTiat 
have  we  here?  A  little  hill  all  paved  over?  No,  a 
bridge  rather  high  above  the  water  and  wondrous  old 
— made  in  the  time  of  Noah,  when  they  had  high 
water!  And  the  river,  how  narrow  and  slow  and  deep 
it  is!  It  looks  like  a  great,  black,  sleepy  dragon  creep- 
ing through  the  town,  under  the  walls  and  under  the 
bridges  and  under  the  eaves  of  the  houses.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  be  drownied  in  that  river,  but  if  I  must  be,  I'd 
rather  take  it  up  there  where  the  moon  is  shining  on 
the  water  than  here  under  the  shadow  of  this  grim  old 
house. 

This  thing  here  in  the  market  place  must  be  the 


94  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

frequented  foot  path.  It  became  very  dark  when  I 
was  on  the  summit  and  I  had  to  grope  my  way  through 
the  forest  down  the  mountain.  At  length  I  saw  a  dim 
Hght  and  came  to  a  shepherd's  coitage.  Here  were  sev- 
eral rough-looking  men  who  directed  me  across  a 
marshy  plain  full  of  ditches.  It  was  so  dark  that  I 
had  to  feel  for  the  path  and  the  planks  across  the  ditches 
with  my  Alpine  stock.  I  arrived  at  the  little  inn  of 
Eschenlohe  about  ten  o'clock.  Hie  next  morning  I 
walked  twenty-four  miles  before  one  o'clock  to  Wil- 
heim,  where  I  took  the  train  to  Munich. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GERMANY. 

T  N  Germany,  I  visited  in  the  follov/ing  order  Munich, 
*  Prague,  Dresden,  Berlin,  Postdam,  Leipsic,  Nur- 
emberg, Stuttgart  and  Ulm.  An  extract  from  a  letter 
written  to  my  life-long  friend,  Philip  Potter,  will  show 
the  spirit  with  which  I  appreciated  and  enjoyed  the 
things  I  saw: 

"  Nuremberg,  Germany,  Oct.  1st,  1871. 
**  M\)  dear  Philip : 

"  It  is  Sunday  afternoon,  cold  and  rainy,  and  I  am 
going  to  begin  a  letter  to  you.  Nuremberg  is  just  the 
quaintest  old  town  you  ever  saw,  or  I  either.     In  an  art 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  95 

exhibition  in  Brooklyn,  I  once  saw  a  painting  called 
*  Nuremberg  by  Moonlight,'  and  I  looked  at  it  for  a 
long  time.  It  so  happened  that  I  entered  the  town  by 
moonlight  and  leaving  my  bag  at  a  hotel,  I  strolled 
through  the  town.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  and  the 
streets  were  deserted,  so  I  indulged  in  the  very  pleasant 
habit  of  putting  my  hands  in  my  pockets  and  talkmg 
to  myself,  '  Quaint  old  town  this,  sure  enough !  Some 
streets  very  wide,  with  the  moon  shining  down  on  the 
pavements — others  very  narrow  and  very  dark — no 
moonshine  at  all !  What  big  houses  with  high,  pointed 
roofs  and  with  gable  ends  to  the  street!  I  wonder  how 
they  happened  to  be  so?  I  suppose  some  Titan  played 
a  trick  on  the  sleeping  burghers  and  turned  the  houses 
round  endwise  to  the  street.  But  how  high  they  are! 
There  is  one  that  looks  like  a  pyramid  of  Egypt.  Let 
me  count  the  stories.  One,  two,  three  up  to  the  eaves; 
above  the  eaves  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six!  What  a 
garret  there  must  be!  Up  to  the  front  edges  of  the 
roof  there  is  something  like  a  flight  of  stairs,  only  very 
big  steps,  made  for  ghosts  to  climb,  I  suppose.  What 
have  we  here?  A  little  hill  all  paved  over?  No,  a 
bridge  rather  high  above  the  water  and  wondrous  old 
— made  in  the  time  of  Noah,  when  they  had  high 
water!  And  the  river,  how  narrow  and  slow  and  deep 
it  is!  It  looks  like  a  great,  black,  sleepy  dragon  creep- 
ing through  the  town,  under  the  walls  and  under  the 
bridges  and  under  the  eaves  of  the  houses.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  be  drowned  in  that  river,  but  if  I  must  be,  I'd 
rather  take  it  up  there  where  the  moon  is  shining  on 
the  water  than  here  under  the  shadow  of  this  grim  old 
house. 

This  thing  here  in  the  market  place  must  be  the 


98  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

reading  up  on  Italy,  which  we  were  next  to  visit.  The 
forenoons  were  given  to  study  and  reading  and  the  after- 
noons to  rowing  on  the  Lake  or  cUmbing  the  vine-cov- 
ered hills.  The  fifth  of  November  ended  our  stay  at 
Vevey.  The  two  boys  in  Mr.  Smith's  care  went  by 
train  through  the  Mont  Ceni  Tunnel  to  Milan,  while 
Mr.  Smith  and  myself  started  to  walk  over  the  Simplon 
Pass  into  Italy.  The  snow  was  two  feet  deep  on  the 
summit  of  the  Simplon  and  avalanches  had  filled  the 
road  in  several  places  with  deep  snow.  We  were 
nearly  exhausted  with  hard  walking,  but  the  monks  at 
the  Hospice  warmed  and  fed  us,  so  we  went  on  and 
made  thirty  miles  that  day.  After  that  we  walked  two 
days  in  heavy  rain.  Before  reaching  Como  and  Milan 
we  had  walked  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  m/Jcs 
through  Baveno  on  Lake  Maggiore,  Lugano  and  then 
Belagio  on  Lake  Como.  The  mountains  were  crimson 
with  autumn  foliage  and  the  scenery  everywhere  mag- 
nificent. In  Italy  we  visited  all  the  principal  cities  and 
art  galleries,  also  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii,  The 
following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  to  Philip  Potter : 

"  Naples,  December  20th,  1871. 
"  I  have  been  on  the  summit  of  Vesuvius  to-day, 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  crater,  looked  right  down  into 
his  blood-red  throat  and  felt  his  hot,  sulphurous  breath 
on  my  cheek.  Now  and  then  he  groaned  and  muttered 
and  then  breathed  forth  the  fumes  with  greater  fury. 
I  loosed  some  large  stones  which  went  tumbling  into  his 
throat,  but  he  swallowed  them  without  winking.  Sa- 
turn-like he  took  them  for  his  own  children  which  in 


Who  Became  a  BisJwp  99 

fact  they  were.  Vesuvius  is  a  grim  old  chimney  and 
miles  before  one  reaches  the  summit  there  is  nothing  but 
lava,  cinders  and  black  sand." 

From  Naples  I  v^^ent  to  Brindisi  and  took  steamer 
through  the  Greek  Islands  to  Athens,  where  I  remained 
ten  days,  examining  all  the  ruins  and  places  very  fa- 
miliar to  a  student  of  classical  Greek.  In  returning,  on 
account  of  storms,  accidents  and  quarantine,  i  was 
twenty  days  getting  to  Mentone,  m  Southern  France. 
There  I  spent  four  weeks,  teaching  the  boys  whom  Mr. 
Smith  had  left  in  my  care  and  exploring  the  mountain 
paths.  On  the  twenty-fifth  of  February,  I  sailed  with 
one  of  the  boys  from  Marseilles,  France,  to  Barcelona, 
Spain.  In  that  country  we  visited  Saragossa,  Madrid, 
Seville,  Grenada,  where  we  saw  the  Alhambra,  made 
famous  by  Washington  Irving  and  the  events  of  history. 
I  also  went  to  Toledo  to  see  the  cathedral  and  the  fac- 
tory of  the  famous  Toledo  blades,  or  swords. 

On  my  return  to  Madrid  from  the  south  of  Spain, 
I  had  this  experience.  I  was  then  alone  and  arrived  in 
Madrid  late  at  night.  I  started  to  walk  half  a  mile  from 
ihe  station  to  the  hotel  with  a  great  crowd  of  people 
who  got  off  the  train.  It  was  up  a  very  wide  avenue 
with  trees  between  the  different  driveways  and  walks. 
As  I  went  on,  the  people  drifted  off  into  the  side  streets 
until  at  last  I  was  all  alone.  Ahead  of  me  I  saw  a 
tall  man  with  a  Spanish  cloak  over  his  shoulders.  As 
soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  me,  he  turned  and  started 
at  a  quick  pace  to  intercept  me.     It  was  evident  that  he 


100  The  Farmer  Boy 

intended  to  strike  me  down,  probably  with  a  dagger, 
and  rob  me.  I  kept  straight  on,  but  quickly  changed 
my  knapsack  to  my  left  hand,  put  my  right  hand  into 
my  overcoat  pocket  and  grasped  a  revolver.  The  man 
saw  the  movement  and  when  withm  ten  feet  of  me 
turned  off  and  went  the  other  way. 

From  Spain  we  went  to  Paris  and  then  through  Bel- 
gium and  Holland  on  to  London.  There  I  spent  two 
weeks  buying  books  for  my  library.  I  then  took  the 
boys  through  Southern  Scotland  and  around  to  Liver- 
pool, where  we  boarded  the  steamer  for  New  York  on 
the  twenty-seventh  of  April.  While  in  London,  I  re- 
ceived a  call  to  the  rectorship  of  St.  Luke's  Church, 
Plattsmouth,  Nebraska.  This  was  a  town  twenty  miles 
south  of  Omaha,  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Missouri 
River.  On  arriving  in  Brooklyn,  I  reported  to  my 
Bishop  as  ready  for  work.  He  said  there  were  two 
places  I  could  have,  but  that  he  thought  it  was  my 
duty,  being  young  and  single,  to  go  to  Nebraska  and 
help  Bishop  Clarkson,  who  found  it  difficult  to  get 
clergymen.     I  bowed  to  his  suggestion  and  went. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WORK  IN  THE   WEST. 

T^  HE  seventeenth  of  June,  1872,  found  me  in  Platts- 

*■      mouth,   Nebraska,  ready  to  take  charge  of  my 

first  parish.     My  friend,  Philip  Potter,  through  whose 


IVho  Became  a  BisJiop  101 

influence  the  call  had  come  to  me,  was  then  in  business 
twenty-five  miles  south  of  Plattsmouth  at  Nebraska 
City.  I  entered  upon  my  work  with  much  enthusiasm, 
although  I  should  have  preferred  a  newer  place  and 
work  more  strictly  missionary  in  character.  There  was 
plenty  to  do  and  I  worked  hard  to  do  it.  In  December 
I  took  a  severe  cold  riding  horseback  to  a  mission  sta- 
tion in  the  country,  and  was  taken  down  with  typhoid 
fever.  The  physician  partly  broke  the  fever,  but  I 
was  in  bed  three  weeks.  Those  were  the  only  Sunday 
services  I  missed  on  account  of  health  for  the  next 
thirty-eight  years.  After  getting  up  and  holding  Christ- 
mas services  I  went  to  my  friend  in  Nebraska  City  for 
a  rest.  The  fever  was  still  in  my  system  so  that  I  was 
very  lame.  It  finally  culminated  in  a  fever,  or  bone 
sore  on  my  left  arm  which  remained  open  most  of  the 
time  for  the  next  two  years,  sapping  me  of  strength 
and  courage.  I  was  very  lonely  in  my  work  at  Platts- 
mouth, caused  partly,  I  suppose,  by  the  drain  upon  my 
health.  The  following  lines  written  to  a  friend  in  the 
east  expressed  my  feelings: 

"  Alone  viath  God  and  doing  of  his  work. 
Master  and  man!     Mingling  with  the  world 
But  yet  not  of  it;  delving  on  the  earth 
For  things  not  earthy;  casting  at  His  feet 
The  gems  I  find,  immortal  souls  redeemed 
And  gathered  from  this  world  of  waste  and  woe. 
Persuading,  battling  others,  yet  alone — 
Master  and  man,  alone,  alone  with  God." 


102  The  Farmer  Boy 

In  the  thirteen  months  I  was  in  Plattsmouth.  I  wrote 
twenty-five  new  sermons,  n^.aking  them  the  very  best  I 
could  and  always  delivering  them  on  Saturday  in  the 
empty  church  before  preaching  them  on  Sunday  More 
than  half  the  time  I  preached  extempore,  but  it  came 
very  hard  for  me  and  I  was  often  discouraged.  I  told 
Bishop  Clarkson  that  I  was  worked  out  and  preached 
out  and  desired  a  change.  He  wanted  me  to  go  to 
North  Platte,  three  hundred  miles  farther  west.  I 
shrank  from  the  still  lonelier  life  I  should  have  there 
and  accepted  a  call  to  assist  Rev.  D.  B.  Knickerbacker 
in  his  large  parish  and  many  missions  in  and  around 
Minneapolis,  Minnesota.  I  made  some  good  friends 
in  Plattsmouth,  so  that  many  years  afterwards,  when 
I  became  Bishop,  the  parish  sent  me  an  offering  every 
year  for  my  missionary  work. 

In  Minneapolis  I  had  a  lovely  home  in  Dr.  Knicker- 
backer's  family  and  my  health  gradually  improved.  I 
had  charge  of  three  mission  chapels  in  the  city  and  two 
in  the  country,  alternating  between  them  and  often 
preaching  in  the  parish  church  of  Gethsemane  in  the 
evening.  The  work  was  hard  but  interesting  and  as  I  did 
not  have  to  preach  twice  in  the  same  place  on  Sunday, 
I  needed  but  one  sermon  a  week.  I  had  written  twelve 
sermons  while  a  deacon,  twenty-five  while  at  Platts- 
mouth and  this  year  I  wrote  only  twelve,  but  took  the 
greatest  pains  to  make  them  the  very  best  I  could  write. 
I  gradually  gained  courage  to  extemporize  much  of  the 
time.     I  here  learned  the  practicability  of  a  parish  doing 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  103 

a  great  deal  of  mission  work  in  its  vicinity  and  sur- 
rounding country.  The  three  city  missions  I  then  had 
charge  of  have  long  since  grown  into  self-supporting 
parishes. 

The  striking  feature  of  this  year's  work  was  the 
parochial  missions  we  held  in  four  of  the  mission  sta- 
tions. Dr.  Knickerbacker  helped  in  some  of  them,  but 
left  the  most  of  it  to  me.  A  parochial  mission,  that  is, 
a  series  of  preaching  services  every  day  for  a  week  or 
more,  was  a  new  thing  in  this  country  then.  Rev. 
Messrs.  Morgan  and  Bonham  had  lately  introduced 
it  from  England.  These  missions  which  we  held  in 
Lent  were  the  first  ever  held  in  Minnesota  or  in  the 
far  west.  Although  the  weather  was  bad  they  were 
well  attended  and  resulted  in  large  confirmation  classes. 

Before  the  year  was  over  I  received  a  call  to  All 
Saints'  parish,  Northfield,  Minnesota,  and  felt  it  my 
duty  to  accept.  There  I  labored  for  two  years  and 
kept  up  two  mission  stations  in  country  school  houses 
seven  and  nine  miles  away.  There  was  a  Congrega- 
tionalist  college  in  Northfield  and  the  students,  being 
free  to  go  where  they  pleased  Sunday  evenings,  began 
to  crowd  our  little  church,  filling  even  the  aisles  and 
vestry  room.  With  the  evening  collections,  we  started 
a  fund  for  enlarging  the  church.  About  half  the  can- 
didates I  presented  for  confirmation  were  from  the  coun- 
try missions.  A  fine  rectory  was  built  during  my  stay 
there.  I  often  spent  Mondays  in  Faribault  with  the 
professors  and  students  of  the  Divinity  School  and  occa- 


104  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

sionally   a  student  would  spend  a  Sunday  with  me. 
This  was  a  great  comfort  in  my  lonely  life. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WORK    IN    NEW    ENGLAND. 

A  T  the  end  of  two  years'  work  in  Northfield,  I  felt 
■^~^  the  need  of  a  long  rest,  so  I  resigned  the  parish 
and  went  east  in  1 876  to  visit  the  Centennial  Exhibition 
in  Philadelphia  and  see  my  old  friends.  After  a  month 
in  Philadelphia,  I  took  charge  for  three  months  of  the 
old  parish  at  West  Claremont,  New  Hampshire,  while 
the  rector,  my  seminary  friend  and  companion  in  foreign 
travel.  Rev.  W.  B.  T.  Smith,  v/ent  off,  at  the  request 
of  his  Bishop,  to  start  a  mission  at  Sanborn,  New 
Hampshire.  Then  the  rector  at  Charlestown,  New 
Hampshire,  wished  to  go  abroad,  so  I  took  his  work 
there  for  three  months.  In  these  places  the  work  was 
easy  and  pleasant,  and  the  time  spent  in  them  proved  as 
good  as  a  vacation  to  build  up  my  strength  and  courage; 
for  independent  work. 

While  visiting  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Emily  Graves  Col- 
lins, in  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  I  was  introduced  by  her 
in  the  church  to  a  young  lady  by  the  name  of  Mary 
Totten  Watrous.  Her  stepfather  was  a  warden  of  the 
church  there  and  lived  within  a  block  of  my  Cousin's. 


KEV.  A.  R.  AND  MRS.  (iRAVKS  AT  THK  TIME  OF  THEIR  .MAKRIA(iE. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  105 

My  Cousin  knew  Miss  Watrous  well  and  spoke  highly 
of  her  character.  Social  intercourse  and  games  of 
croquet  brought  us  much  together  until  our  intimacy  led 
on  to  respect  and  love.  I  frequently  visited  her  from 
Claremont  and  Charlestown  and  in  the  autumn  we  be- 
came engaged.  The  uncertainty  of  my  future  work 
prevented  our  marriage  until  after  Easter  the  following 
spring.  My  wife  has  been  popular  and  a  favorite  in 
all  my  parishes  and  while  I  was  active  as  Bishop  she 
was  the  efficient  president  of  the  Woman's  Auxiliary 
and  Ladies'  Guilds  of  the  vv^hole  District.  While  I 
was  in  charge  of  Northern  California,  she  visited  all 
the  parishes  with  me  and  organized  branches  of  the 
Auxiliary  in  many  places.  She  has  always  been  very 
faithful  in  our  home  and  made  it  the  home  as  well  of 
our  parishioners  and  clergy.  We  have  had  six  chil- 
dren, all  of  whom  lived  to  grow  up  and  become  active 
communicants  of  the  Church. 

After  the  rector  of  Charlestown  returned  from 
England,  Bishop  Niles  of  New  Hampshire  asked  me 
to  take  charge  of  a  mission  at  Littleton,  in  the  northern 
part  of  the  state.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  White 
Mountains,  a  beautiful  and  interesting  country.  An 
old  house  was  bought  there  for  a  rectory,  which  I 
papered  and  fitted  up  with  my  own  hands.  On  the 
second  day  of  the  following  April,  Easter  Tuesday,,! 
was  married  to  Miss  Watrous  and,  for  the  first  time 
since  leaving  my  father's  home  sixteen  years  before, 
had  a  home  of  my  own.     The  four  years  I  spent  at 


106  The  Farmer  Boy 

Littleton  were  happy  and  profitable.  My  salary  was 
about  one  thousand  dollars  a  year  and  we  managed  to 
lay  by  about  one  hundred  dollars  each  year.  Here 
two  of  our  children  were  born.  I  started  several  mis- 
sions in  country  school  houses  and  one  in  the  village 
of  Whitefield,  where  a  church  has  since  been  built.  On 
one  occasion,  I  took  a  long  missionary  trip  with  Rev. 
J.  B.  Goodrich  into  the  north  end  of  the  state,  where 
our  Church  was  then  unknown.  On  this  trip  we  held 
the  first  services  of  our  Church  at  Groveton  and  Cole- 
brook. 

I  often  went  camping  and  tramping  among  the  moun- 
tains, sometimes  with  cousins  from  Yale  College  and 
sometimes  with  brother  clergymen.  One  time  I  had  a 
convocation  of  the  clergy  of  eastern  Vermont  and 
western  New  Hampshire  in  a  deserted  logging  camp 
back  in  the  mountains.  From  such  trips  I  became  an 
expert  trout  fisherman.  I  climbed  Mount  Washington 
in  the  dead  of  winter  and  visited  the  Signal  Service 
officers,  one  of  whom  had  been  an  old  schoolmate  in 
Rutland.  While  there,  the  thermometer  went  down 
to  twenty-eight  degrees  below  zero  and  I  froze  my  nose 
while  going  a  few  rods  against  the  wind. 

While  missionary  at  Littleton,  I  received  calls  to 
Cheyenne,  Wyoming,  and  to  Boise,  Idaho,  but  my 
work  seemed  so  prosperous  and  blessed  where  I  was 
that  I  declined  the  distant  and  uncertain  prospects  in 
the  far  west.  In  1880,  a  call  came  from  St.  Peter's 
Church,  Bennington,  Vermont,  and  as  both  the  town 


Who  Became,  a  Bishop  107 

and  church  were  larger  and  seemed  to  offer  better  op- 
portunity for  work,  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  accept.  We 
moved  there  in  the  summer.  My  family  and  goods 
went  by  train,  but  I  drove  our  pony  down  the  Connec- 
ticut Valley  to  Brattleboro  and  then  across  the  Green 
Mountains  to  Bennington.  As  I  look  back  upon  it 
now,  I  doubt  if  the  opportunity  at  Bennington  proved 
any  better  than  it  was  at  Littleton.  There  were  little 
villages  and  country  school  houses  where  I  opened  mis- 
sions, holding  services  in  them  Sunday  afternoons,  but 
the  Puritan  prejudices  inherited  for  over  a  hundred 
years  seemed  to  hamper  aggressive  work  for  our  Church. 
As  the  older  people  of  the  parish  seemed  to  prefer 
written  sermons  to  extempore,  I  improved  the  oppor- 
tunity in  writing  many  carefully  prepared  sermons 
which  proved  an  invaluable  help  in  my  later  and  larger 
work  in  the  west.  In  the  three  years  I  was  there,  I 
wrote  seventy-seven  sermons.  For  recreation  I  fished 
the  trout  streams  in  the  summer  and  in  the  fall  and 
winter  hunted  on  the  near  mountains.  Old  as  the  coun- 
try was,  partridges,  woodcock,  rabbits  and  trout  could 
be  readily  found,  so  I  rarely  went  out  for  a  few  hours 
that  I  did  not  bring  back  all  we  needed  for  the  table. 

The  only  trouble  I  ever  had  in  a  parish  v/as  here 
with  the  organist,  who  resigned  because  I  insisted  on  my 
right  to  have  something  to  say  as  to  what  hymns  should 
be  sung.  However,  that  was  only  a  slight  ripple  on 
the  placid  waters  of  a  long  and  peaceful  life-work. 
The  bishops,  vestries  and  committees  with  whom  I  have 


108  The  Farmer  Boy 

worked  have  always  been  reasonable  and  helpful.  If 
I  had  laid  the  matter  of  the  organist  in  Bennington 
before  the  vestry  at  first,  it  would  have  been  the  wiser 
course  and  the  vestry  would  have  saved  me  all  trouble. 
All  the  people  at  Littleton  and  Bennington  were 
warmly  attached  to  me,  as  far  as  I  could  tell,  and  re- 
gretted the  separation  when  I  resigned. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

GETHSEMANE  CHURCH,  MINNEAPOLIS. 

r\N  the  fifteenth  of  June,  1883,  Rev.  D.  B.  Knick- 
^-^  erbacker,  D.D.,  rector  of  Gethsemane  Church, 
Minneapolis,  Minnesota,  accepted  the  bishopric  of  In- 
diana, to  which  he  had  been  elected.  He  recommended 
me  to  the  vestry  of  Gethsemane,  and  I  was  immediately 
elected  rector  at  a  salary  of  one  thousand  and  five  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year.  There  seemed  to  open  to  me  then 
the  opportunity  for  aggressive  work  for  which  I  had 
long  prayed  and  waited.  Dr.  Knickerbacker  had  be- 
gun his  work  there  twenty-seven  years  before  in  1 856. 
He  had  built  the  parish  up  from  a  small  mission  of  less 
than  a  dozen  communicants  to  be  the  largest  and  most 
active  parish  in  the  diocese.  Although  its  people  were 
not  wealthy.  Bishop  Whipple  spoke  of  it  repeatedly  in 
his  annual  addresses  as  leading  the  diocese  both  in  con- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  109 

tributions  and  active  works.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to 
follow  Dr.  Knickerbacker  as  rector  who  was  not  only 
endeared  to  his  people  but  next  to  James  Lloyd  Breck 
was  the  most  active  missionary  outside  his  parish  in  the 
American  Church.  While  rector  of  a  city  church  he 
started  and  maintained  at  one  time  or  another  more  than 
a  dozen  outside  missions.  He  had  held  missionary 
services  and  preached  in  more  than  a  hundred  different 
places  in  Minnesota.  To  him  and  the  Brotherhood  of 
Gethsemane  (started  long  before  St.  Andrew's 
Brotherhood),  the  Church  in  Minnesota  owes  an  in- 
estimable debt.  I  accepted  the  rectorship  of  Geth- 
semane, where  I  had  been  assistant  ten  years  before 
and  succeeded  him  on  the  first  of  September,  1883. 

In  the  previous  May  the  corner-stone  for  a  new 
stone  church  for  Gethsemane  Parish  had  been  laid  to 
take  the  place  of  the  dilapidated,  wooden  building 
which,  with  several  enlargements,  had  served  the  parish 
for  over  twenty  years.  The  walls  of  the  new  church 
were  about  ten  feet  high  when  I  took  charge  in  Sep- 
tember. When  the  season  for  buildmg  closed  in  the 
fall  the  money  paid  on  the  subscriptions  was  all  ex- 
hausted. The  times  were  growing  hard  and  it  seemed 
impossible  to  go  on  and  complete  the  church.  A 
neighboring  parish,  more  wealthy  than  ours,  offered  to 
buy  or  new  plant  and  save  us  from  ruin.  Our  vestry 
indignantly  rejected  the  proposition  and  all  took  hold 
with  renewed  vigor.  The  rector  alone  during  the 
winter  secured  a  hundred  new  subscriptions.     All  the 


1 1 0  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

organizations  in  the  parish.  The  Ladies'  Aid,  The 
Young  Ladies'  Guild,  TTie  Amateur  Club,  The  In- 
dustrial School,  The  Temperance  Society,  and  The 
Sunday  School  worked  hard  for  the  new  church.  The 
next  spring  and  summer  the  building  went  forward  and 
was  completed  in  December,  1 884. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  parish  and  the  rector 
when  we  moved  from  the  old  church,  where  water 
froze  during  the  service,  to  our  fine  new  church,  which 
could  seat  a  thousand  people.  We  could  not  sell  at 
that  time  the  lots  where  the  old  church  stood,  so  we  had 
to  borrow  thirty  thousand  dollars.  We  were,  however, 
in  shape  to  do  a  glorious  work  in  a  rapidly  growing  city. 

With  the  help  of  the  Brotherhood,  we  were  carry- 
ing on  several  missions  in  and  about  the  city.  We 
started  a  new  one  in  the  south  part  of  the  city,  which 
in  two  years  became  St.  Luke's  Church,  with  a  rector 
of  its  own.  The  congregation  at  Gethsemane  increased 
rapidly.  During  the  six  years  of  my  rectorship  I 
presented  on  an  average  fifty  persons  a  year  for  con- 
firmation. There  were  sometimes  a  hundred  and  fifty 
present  at  the  confirmation  lectures.  When  I  took 
charge  of  Gethsemane,  there  were  two  hundred  and 
seventy-four  communicants  on  the  roll.  My  last  re- 
port as  rector  in  1889  showed  seven  hundred  and 
sixty-five  communicants,  the  largest  number  of  any  of 
our  churches  at  that  time  west  of  Chicago.  There  were 
then  in  the  parish  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  families, 
one  thousand,  five  hundred  and  thirty  souls.     Baptisms 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 1 1 

for  the  last  year  were  ninety-two,  confirmations  sixty, 
marriages  fourteen,  burials  thirty-five.  The  wonder- 
ful growth  during  those  six  years  was  due  partly  to  our 
new  church,  partly  to  the  rapid  growth  of  the  city,  partly 
to  my  noble  lay  helpers  and  not  entirely  to  the  efforts  of 
the  rector.  That  I  worked  hard  and  joyously  goes  with- 
out saying.  My  Sunday  duties  for  the  first  three  years 
were  generally  as  follows:  Early  communion,  Sunday 
school,  which  I  superintended,  mid-day  service  and 
sermon,  a  short  service  and  address  at  the  county  jail, 
a  drive  of  six  miles  to  Oak  Grove  or  twelve  miles  to 
Minnetonka  Mills  for  service  and  sermon,  then  back 
to  Gethsemane  for  evening  service  and  sermon.  There 
were  always  two  week  evening  services  with  addresses 
and  daily  service  during  Lent.  After  the  first  year,  I 
had  an  assistant  part  of  the  time,  which  relieved  me 
somewhat,  though  most  of  his  time  was  given  to  the 
missions.  In  some  of  these  years  I  made  eighteen  hun- 
dred parochial  calls.  I  was  secretary  of  the  Board  of 
Missions  of  the  diocese  and  held  a  dozen  or  more 
parochial  missions  in  the  country  parishes  and  mission 
stations.  On  the  average,  I  preached  two  hundred  and 
twenty  times  a  year.  The  blessed  fruits  of  these  efforts 
which  were  abundant  and  apparent  made  the  work 
simply  glorious.  Before  I  left,  we  sold  the  old  church 
ground  and  rectory  for  thirty-five  thousand  dollars, 
which  paid  all  our  large  debt  except  some  interest 
money.  That  small  amount  alone  prevented  the  con- 
secration of  the  church.     My  family  had  increased  to 


1 12  The  Farmer  Boy 

four  children  and  with  my  comparatively  small  salary 
and  no  rectory,  it  was  not  easy  to  meet  expenses. 
While  the  parish  was  in  debt,  I  would  not  demand  more 
salary,  but  the  vestry  did  eventually  increase  it  to  two 
thousand  dollars  and  house  rent. 

For  recreation,  which  was  much  needed  at  times,  I 
ran  out  to  some  of  the  neighboring  lakes  for  fishing  or  to 
the  forest  for  a  hunt.  Two  or  three  days  out  of  door 
would  enable  me  to  sleep  and  invigorate  me  for  the 
work.  My  vacation  of  three  weeks  was  taken  in  Sep- 
tember, that  being  the  time  in  the  far  north  when  recre- 
ation is  most  invigorating  and  most  needed  for  the 
strenuous  work  of  fall  and  winter.  With  Rev.  C.  H. 
Plummer,  of  Lake  City,  Minnesota,  and  one  or  two 
other  friends,  we  would  go  to  the  head  waters  of  some 
branch  of  the  Mississippi  and  float  dov/n  in  canoes, 
camping  on  the  banks  at  night.  Those  streams  ran 
through  the  great  pine  forests  of  northern  Wisconsin 
and  Minnesota.  Sometimes  we  would  not  see  a  white 
man  for  ten  days,  but  only  a  few  Chippeway  Indians. 
We  always  got  ducks  and  fish  enough  for  meat  and  sev- 
eral times  we  got  deer.  Once  we  got  a  shot  at  a  large, 
black  bear.  He  was  opening  clams  on  the  shore  and 
Mr.  Plummer  got  a  hurried  shot  from  the  boat.  The 
adventure  is  described  as  follows  by  Mr.  Isaac  Rich- 
ardson, one  of  our  party,  in  the  LaJ^e  City  Sentinel: 

"  I  jumped  ashore  with  my  gun  loaded  with  duck 
shot,  hardly  knowing  which  end  to  shoot  from.  Par- 
son Plummer  followed  with  his  Winchester  rifle.    Par- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 1 3 

son  Graves,  who  was  not  quite  so  excited,  took  a 
second's  time  to  change  his  charge  from  duck  shot  to 
buck  shot,  then  jumped  ashore.  We  all  dove  into  the 
brush  without  any  caution  whatever.  Suddenly  I  saw 
the  bear  coming  from  the  quarter  where  Parson  Graves 
was  beating  the  bush.  Parson  Plummer  was  only 
just  in  time  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  bear's  retreatmg 
form,  moving  away  with  a  rolling,  shambling,  but 
speedy,  gait,  into  a  densely  wooded  swamp,  just  as 
Parson  Graves,  who  is  quick  and  active,  came  bound- 
ing along,  his  gun  over  his  head  and  passing  us  with- 
out a  look,  followed  on  through  mire  and  brush  and, 
like  the  bear,  soon  disappeared  in  the  thick  under- 
growth. How  far  he  went  or  where  he  stopped,  we 
do  not  know  and,  after  waiting  what  seemed  to  us  a 
long  time,  we  blew  the  signal  whistle  for  him  to  return. 
"  Like  a  deer  hound  on  the  trail,  he  reluctantly  gave 
up  the  chase  and  returned,  boots  and  clothes  wet  and 
muddy,  hat  turned  hindside  front,  face  scratched  and 
looking  as  though  he  had  been  up  to  Oshkosh,  having 
some  fun  with  the  boys,  exclaiming,  as  the  butt  of  his 
gun  rested  on  the  ground,  '  Boys,  we  ought  to  have 
had  the  fellow.'  " 

Some  allowance  should  be  made  for  the  heroic  col- 
oring of  the  above.  That  evening  I  got  my  first  deer. 
I  was  hunting  partridges  and  the  deer,  not  seeing  me, 
came  bounding  by.  I  quickly  put  a  buck  shot  car- 
tridge in  my  shot  gun  and  brought  him  down.  Those 
trips  with  the  rowing  and  out-of-door  life  were  very 
invigorating  and  of  the  greatest  benefit  to  me.  On 
one  of  them  I  gained  ten  pounds  in  weight  in  twelve 
days. 


1  ]  4  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

EARLY    EPISCOPATE. 

IN  the  diocesan  convention  of  Minnesota  of  1889,  I 
was  elected  a  Delegate  to  the  General  Convention 
of  the  Church,  which  met  in  New  York,  in  October  of 
that  year.  I  had  no  knowledge  that  Nebraska  was  to 
be  divided  and  a  new  missionary  district  erected.  Least 
of  all,  did  I  expect  that  the  House  of  Bishops  would 
think  of  me  for  the  new  missionary  bishop.  I  suppose 
it  must  have  been  Bishops  Knickerbacker,  Whipple 
and  Gilbert  who  suggested  it  to  the  House  of  Bishops, 
but,  as  their  proceedings  were  in  secret,  I  never  knew. 
When  Bishop  Knickerbacker  called  me  out  of  the 
House  of  Deputies  and  told  me  what  had  been  done, 
it  came  like  a  thunderbolt  from  the  clear  sky.  As  the 
House  of  Deputies  had  also  to  approve  or  disapprove 
of  the  action,  I  withdrew  until  the  matter  was  settled 
by  a  unanimous  vote  in  my  favor.  What  encomiums 
or  criticisms  were  passed  upon  me  there,  I  did  not  know, 
and  did  not  need  to  know.  My  district  was  to  be  called 
the  Jurisdiction  of  The  Platte,  and  it  contained  fifty 
thousand  square  miles  of  western  Nebraska. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  for  me  to  leave  a  large  and 
enthusiastic  parish  of  nearly  eight  hundred  communi- 
cants and  take  charge  of  a  vast,  thinly-peopled  country 
with  less  than  four  hundred  communicants  in  the  whole 
district.     I  had  to  take  my  growing  family  from  con- 


RT.  RJiV.  A.  K.  (.RAVK.S.  D.lJ.,  I..K.D.    AT   t'lKTV    VlvARS  OK  A*.E. 


Who  Became  a  BisJwp  1  1 5 

genial  surroundings  and  the  fine  schools  of  Minne- 
apolis to  the  pioneer  life  of  a  far  western  country. 
However,  as  the  call  came  unsought,  it  seemed  to  come 
from  Providence,  and  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  accept. 
On  the  first  day  of  January,  1890,  in  Gethsemane 
Church,  in  the  presence  of  a  thousand  people,  including 
most  all  our  clergy  of  Minnesota,  many  ministers  of  all 
denominations,  the  president  of  the  State  University 
and  professors,  I  was  consecrated  bishop.  Thus  it  was 
that  the  little  farmer  boy  reached  the  highest  rung  in 
the  ladder  it  was  permitted  him  to  climb.  It  was  a  day 
that  brought  tears  and  an  overwhelming  sense  of  respon- 
sibility as  well  as  joy  that  cannot  be  expressed.  That 
I,  who  had  worked  quietly  and  for  the  most  part  in 
secluded  villages,  should  have  been  selected  out  of  over 
four  thousand  clergymen  of  the  Church,  by  all  the 
bishops  as  best  fitted  to  set  up  the  standard  of  the 
Church  in  a  new  field  and  lay  the  foundations  for  an- 
other diocese,  seemed  almost  beyond  my  comprehen- 
sion. However,  the  thing  was  done,  and  it  was  now 
for  me  to  explore  and  study  my  new  field  and  adapt 
myself  to  the  conditions  I  should  find. 

My  first  official  act  as  bishop,  the  second  day  after 
my  consecration,  was  to  confirm  a  class  of  ten  in  the 
little  town  of  Montevideo,  Minnesota,  where  I  had  pre- 
viously held  two  parochial  missions  and  been  instru- 
mental under  God  in  bringing  many  to  Christ.  The 
second  person  on  whom  I  laid  my  hands  was  a  physi- 
cian who,  before  I  held  my  first  mission  there,  had  been 


1 1 6  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

a  pronounced  infidel.  My  next  act  was  to  confirm  a 
class  of  twenty-six  in  Gethsemane  Church,  which  I  had 
prepared  for  confirmation  before  my  consecration.  On 
the  sixth  of  January  I  started  for  my  new  field,  stop- 
ping a  day  in  Omaha  to  consult  Church  authorities 
there.  My  first  visit  in  my  own  District  of  The  Platte 
was  to  a  town  called  Broken  Bow,  by  urgent  request 
of  the  people  there.  Their  pastor,  after  getting  drunk, 
had  just  left.  The  new  church  was  sixteen  hundred 
dollars  in  debt.  The  builders  had  placed  liens  upon 
it  and  there  was  every  prospect  that  the  building  and 
four  fine  lots  would  be  lost  to  the  Church.  It  was 
thought  that  by  borrowing  one  thousand  dollars  from 
the  Church  Building  Fund  Commission,  the  property 
might  be  saved.  After  the  evening  service  with  a  full 
church,  I  gathered  the  women  in  one  corner  of  the 
church  and  told  them  I  would  borrow  the  one  thousand 
dollars  if  they  would  undertake  to  pay  it  off  at  the 
rate  of  two  hundred  dollars  a  year.  I  asked  them  to 
reorganize  their  guild  then  and  there  and  lay  their 
plans  for  work.  I  then  gathered  the  men  in  the  other 
corner  of  the  church  and  secured  pledges  to  the  amount 
of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  toward  the  support 
of  a  new  minister.  I  soon  called  a  missionary  who  had 
returned  from  China,  Rev.  W.  S.  Sayres,  to  the  work. 
In  the  next  five  years  of  drought  and  hardest  times  the 
debt  was  all  paid,  seventy-three  persons  had  been  con- 
firmed and  the  missionary  had  gone  to  Michigan  to 


IVho  Became  a  Bishop  1  1  7 

receive  deserved  honors  there  and  later  to  become  the 
general  missionary,  or  archdeacon,  of  that  diocese. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  Grand  Island,  where  Church 
services  had  been  held  for  a  longer  time  than  in  any 
other  place  in  my  District,  I  found  there  a  beautiful, 
new  church,  which  cost  seventeen  thousand  dollars, 
with  a  debt  of  ten  thousand  dollars  on  it  and  every 
prospect,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  of  losing  their  property. 
I  hunted  for  some  time  to  find  the  rector,  and  routed 
him  out  of  bed  at  I  I  :00  A.  M.  He  and  the  minister 
from  Broken  Bow  had  been  carousing  the  night  before. 
A  few  years  later,  in  the  hardest  times,  the  Ladies' 
Guild  there  had  paid  two  thousand  dollars  of  the  debt 
and  the  men  of  the  parish  had  paid  the  rest  of  it.  Later 
on  this  same  Ladies'  Guild  built  a  good  rectory  and 
paid  for  it  themselves.  Then  they  bought  and  paid  for 
a  fine  pipe  organ,  besides  helping  the  vestry  with  the 
running  expenses  of  the  church. 

I  next  visited  Kearney,  where  I  found  the  aged  rec- 
tor. Rev.  R.  W.  Oliver,  D.D.,  and  a  small  wooden 
church.  I  was  sick  with  the  grippe  and  a  blizzard  was 
raging,  but  I  kept  on  with  the  work.  The  people  at 
Kearney  were  enthusiastic  to  have  me  make  Kearney 
my  home.  They  promised  to  secure  a  Bishop's  House 
for  the  district  and  eventually  make  the  church  there 
my  cathedral.  Inducements  were  also  held  out  to  me 
in  Grand  Island,  Hastings  and  North  Platte,  those, 
with  Kearney,  being  the  only  self-supporting  parishes 
in   the   district.      I   eventually   accepted   the   offer   in 


1  18  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

Kearney.  Evening  receptions  were  given  in  my  honor 
at  Grand  Island,  Kearney  and  Hastings  and  every- 
where I  was  warmly  welcomed  to  my  new  field. 

Aside  from  these  four  parishes,  I  found  two  mission- 
aries in  the  district.  Rev.  J.  M.  Bates  in  the  country 
north  of  the  Platte  River  and  Rev.  S.  F.  Myers  at 
Arapahoe,  south  of  the  Platte.  In  the  whole  district 
there  were  six  clergymen,  nineteen  places  where  services 
were  being  held,  twelve  churches  or  small  chapels  and 
three  hundred  and  seventy-five  communicants  of  the 
Church.  Five  railroads  ran  across  the  district  from  east 
to  west.  The  country  had  been  filling  up  rapidly  with 
homesteaders  and  ranchmen,  but  the  villages  were  all 
very  small  and  far  apart.  Taking  a  missionary  with 
me  when  I  could,  but  often  quite  alone,  I  traversed  these 
lines  of  railroad,  stopping  a  day  in  each  of  the  villages, 
holding  service  in  the  evening  and  making  careful  fam- 
ily lists  of  all  interested  in  our  Church.  I  often  had 
to  find  a  place  to  hold  service  after  arriving  in  the  towns 
and  then  go  from  house  to  house  giving  notice  of  the 
service.  We  generally  had  good  congregations  and 
usually  several  would  stay  afterwards  to  give  me  their 
names  as  interested  in  the  Church.  The  service  was 
printed  on  a  leaflet  and  we  directed  the  people  as  we 
went  along  what  to  do.  We  often  had  good  responses 
where  there  was  not  a  single  member  of  our  Church 
present.  All  were  cordial  to  us  and  hopeful  of  the 
future. 

After  going  over  the  southern  part  of  the  district,  I 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 1 9 

returned  to  Minnesota  in  February  to  fill  an  engage- 
ment made  before  I  was  bishop.  This  was  to  hold  a 
parochial  mission  of  eight  days  in  Marshall,  Minnesota, 
where  our  Church  had  been  lately  planted  by  Rev.  J. 
B.  Halsey,  then  in  charge.  At  first,  the  services  were 
held  in  a  small  hall,  but  when  that  became  crowded,  the 
Methodists  offered  us  their  large  church,  which  also 
became  crowded.  Before  the  mission  was  over,  we 
had  baptized  twelve  adults  and  confirmed  fourteen  per- 
sons. A  church  building  was  soon  after  built  there  and 
permanent  work  established.  Before  February  was 
over,  I  was  back  again  in  The  Platte,  canvassing  the 
towns  on  the  newer  railroads,  enlarging  the  field  of 
each  missionary  and  dividmg  some  fields  to  make  room 
for  additional  missionaries  as  fast  as  I  could  find  clergy- 
men suited  for  our  frontier  work. 

Early  in  May  I  moved  my  family  into  a  house  pur- 
chased for  the  Church  by  the  vestry  of  St.  Luke's 
Church,  Kearney.  They  raised  by  subscription  in 
Kearney  eight  hundred  dollars,  and  their  rector  se- 
cured twenty-five  hundred  dollars  in  the  east  for  the 
purpose.  The  balance  the  vestry  was  unable  to  raise 
on  account  of  cr6p  failures  and  succeeding  hard  times. 
Some  more  came  from  the  east  through  me  to  pay  in- 
terest on  the  debt  and  I  paid  twenty-seven  hundred 
dollars  myself  in  the  form  of  rent  until  all  was  paid. 

In  September,  at  the  earnest  request  of  Bishop  Gil- 
bert, of  Minnesota,  who  was  overA^orked,  I  visited  for 
him  the  missions  among  the  Chippeway  Indians  in  the 


120  The  Farmer  Boy 

extreme  north  of  Minnesota.  In  company  with  the 
faithful  missionary  and  old  Seminary  friend.  Rev.  J.  A. 
Gilfillan,  we  traveled  through  the  forests  on  a  buck- 
board  and  in  birch  bark  canoes  over  three  hundred  miles 
off  the  railroad.  We  visited  eight  scattered  missions 
and  I  confirmed  thirty  Indians.  These  were  prepared 
mostly  by  the  Indian  deacons  working  under  Mr.  Gil- 
fillan. It  was  a  most  delightful  trip,  on  which  we  found 
game  sufficient  for  our  party  of  Indian  guides  and  boat- 
men. In  one  place  I  consecrated,  just  as  the  sun  was 
going  down,  an  Indian  burying  ground.  We  had  some 
prayers  and  then  we  marched  around  the  graveyard  in 
single  file  singing  hymns.  Another  night  we  came  to 
an  Indian  camp,  where  the  Indians  were  drying  a  moose 
they  had  killed.  There,  in  the  gloomy  darkness  by  the 
light  of  birch  bark  torches,  I  confirmed  an  Indian 
woman  in  the  open  air.  The  shining  lake  was  on  one 
side  and  our  hymns  were  echoed  from  the  dark  forest 
on  the  other  side.  Each  night  the  Indians  would  build 
up  a  great  fire  of  logs,  which  would  last  all  night  and 
keep  the  damp  and  chill  of  the  near-by  river  away. 
Sometimes  we  would  portage  from  one  lake  or  great 
bend  in  the  river  to  another  carrying  the  canoes  and  bag- 
gage half  a  mile  across  the  land.  The  shores  of  the 
lakes  were  most  beautiful.  Near  the  banks  was  a  strip 
of  scrub  oaks,  whose  leaves  were  crimson,  back  of  them 
a  belt  of  poplars,  whose  leaves  were  yellow  and  then 
for  a  background  the  great  pine  forests  with  their  dark 
green  foliage. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 2 1 

In  October  I  took  my  first  trip  east  as  bishop  to  at- 
tend the  missionary  council  and  a  meeting  of  the  House 
of  Bishops  in  Pittsburg.  I  then  went  on  farther  east 
to  raise  money  for  our  missionary  work  and  for  our 
school.  In  this  I  was  reasonably  successful  and  made  a 
number  of  good  friends,  who  were  a  great  support  and 
encouragement  to  our  work  for  many  years.  It  was  on 
this  trip  that  I  found  Mrs.  Eva  S.  Cochran  at  Yonkers, 
who  did  so  much  to  help  found  and  build  up  our  Church 
school. 

Before  the  end  of  November  I  was  back  in  my  Dis- 
trict making  visitations.  At  the  end  of  the  first  year  I 
found  I  had  made  three  complete  visitations  of  the  Dis- 
trict and  had  gone  several  times  to  the  vacant  or  more 
important  places.  I  had  traveled  twenty-one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty-four  miles.  We  had  lost  four 
clergymen  and  secured  three  new  ones  for  our  work. 
The  summer  of  1 890  had  been  extremely  dry,  so  that 
there  was  a  crop  failure  almost  complete.  Many  of  the 
poorer  people  moved  out  of  the  country  and  many 
others  suffered  for  food  and  clothing  during  the  winter. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

1891. 

T  N  February  I  held  a  parochial  mission  in  Broken 
*  Bow,  giving  three  services  a  day  and  delivering  four 
addresses.     In  March  I  took  the  Lenten  services  in 


122  The  Farmer  Boy 

Kearney  and  prepared  a  class  for  confirmation  in  the 
absence  of  the  rector.  I  began  my  spring  visitations 
April  1st  and  kept  steadily  at  them  with  two  short 
breaks  until  the  first  of  September.  Hie  last  of  April, 
while  visiting  our  sod  church  at  Kennedy,  in  the  sand 
hills,  I  heard  of  a  ranchman  ten  miles  west  of  there,  who 
was  anxious  to  see  me.  Rev.  Mr.  Bates  and  myself 
drove  over  there  and  spent  the  day.  I  found  the  ranch- 
man had  been  a  groomsman  at  my  own  wedding  in 
Vermont  many  years  before.  He  now  had  a  wife 
and  young  children  and  had  been  living  several  years 
in  the  sand  hills.  In  his  early  home  in  Brattleboro, 
Vermont,  within  the  sound  of  half  a  dozen  church  bells, 
he  had  cared  nothing  for  churches  or  religion.  Living 
on  the  lonely  plains,  "  in  close  communion  with  nature 
and  nature's  God,"  he  had  come  to  think  seriously 
of  religion  and  his  responsibility  as  head  of  a  family. 
He  now  desired  baptism  for  himself  and  his  children, 
which  we  gave  him  after  such  instruction  as  the  time 
permitted. 

In  May  I  presented  a  petition  from  our  Missionary 
District  to  the  Council  of  the  Diocese  of  Nebraska,  ask- 
ing for  an  equitable  division  of  such  Church  funds  as 
had  been  gathered  from  the  whole  state  before  our 
portion  had  been  set  off  as  a  missionary  district.  We 
gave  many  strong  reasons  for  such  division,  pleading 
also  the  poverty  of  our  drought-stricken  country.  Vv^e 
got  nothing,  however,  except  some  sympathy  from  two 
or  three  of  the  larger  hearted  speakers. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  123 

Early  In  September,  while  visiting  stations  in  the 
northern  part  of  our  District,  I  heard  of  a  college  mate 
of  mine  living  at  Swan  Lake,  twenty  miles  off  the 
railroad.  Rev.  Mr.  Bates  and  myself  drove  to  his 
place,  a  little  sod  hut  beside  the  lake.  He  was  living 
alone  and  caring  for  a  herd  of  cattle  belonging  to 
others.  As  there  was  no  wood  or  coal  in  the  country, 
he  kept  warm  and  did  his  cooking  by  burning  hay.  He 
would  fill  a  wash  boiler  with  hay  packed  hard,  then 
turn  it  bottom  side  up  over  the  open  top  of  his  stove. 
It  would  thus  burn  slowly  and  fall  down  as  it  burned. 
His  food  was  largely  biscuits  baked  in  this  way.  Mr. 
Bates  shot  into  a  flock  of  blackbirds  and  brought  down 
sixteen.  These  we  dressed  and  baked  in  his  oven  as  a 
relish  to  our  meal  of  bacon  and  biscuit.  I  asked  why 
he,  a  man  of  education  and  refinement,  lived  in  such  a 
place  and  in  such  a  way.  He  looked  up  into  my  face 
with  his  large,  hungry  eyes  and  said,  "  Because  it  is 
twenty-five  miles  from  a  saloon."  He  had  left  college 
on  account  of  his  dissipation,  had  gone  from  bad  to 
worse,  until  he  had  now  become  a  hermit  to  escape 
temptation.  Not  long  after  he  returned  to  his  mother 
in  New  Jersey  and  died  there.  The  night  we  were  at 
Swan  Lake  we  held  service  in  a  sod  house,  at  which 
fourteen  were  present.  The  men  laughed  to  see  us  put 
on  our  robes,  but  at  that  service  we  baptized  a  woman 
and  her  daughter  who  had  driven  twenty  miles  to  attend 
the  service.     They  drove  back  to  their  home  in  the 


124  The  Farmer  Bo)) 

darkness  of  the  night,  but  we,  the  next  day,  attempting 
to  follow  their  course,  got  lost  three  times  in  the  sand 
hills.  We  baptized  the  sick  child  of  a  ranchman  on 
our  way  back.  Mr.  Bates,  in  driving  into  a  pond  for  a 
duck  we  had  shot,  suddenly  came  to  a  deep  place  so  the 
water  ran  into  the  buggy  and  wet  our  robes.  Such 
little  incidents  break  up  the  monotony  of  our  work  and 
add  spice  to  the  hard  journeys  we  felt  it  our  duty  to 
make. 

In  September,  for  my  vacation,  I  joined  our  old 
party  from  Lake  City,  Minnesota.  We  went  on  the 
Northern  Pacific  Railroad  to  Perham  on  the  Red  River 
of  the  North  and  for  two  weeks  floated  in  our  canoes 
down  that  riyer  through  twelve  lakes  to  Fergus  Falls. 
We  got  many  ducks  and  all  the  fish  we  could  use.  On 
my  return,  I  attended  and  took  active  part  in  the  Mis- 
sionary Council  of  our  Church,  held  that  year  in  De- 
troit, Michigan. 

During  that  year  we  had  bought  an  old  school-house 
and  fitted  it  up  for  a  chapel  at  Holdrege ;  had  done  the 
same  with  an  old  saloon  at  St.  Paul ;  bought  property 
at  Ord  with  a  house  on  it  for  a  rectory,  using  the  parlor 
for  services;  built  a  neat  new  church  at  Callaway,  and 
built  a  sod  church  in  the  sand  hills,  which  cost  one  hun- 
dred and  ten  dollars. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 25 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
1892. 

WHILE  on  a  trip  in  the  northern  part  of  the  Dis- 
trict, April  1st,  there  came  a  great  blizzard, 
that  is,  a  snow  storm  with  fierce  wind.  Thousands  of 
cattle  perished  and  the  railroads  were  blocked.  I  was 
storm-stayed  so  that  I  missed  an  appointment — the  first 
one  since  being  bishop,  over  two  years.  In  May,  the 
great  debt  on  the  church  at  Grand  Island  was  paid  and 
the  church  was  consecrated.  In  June  I  was  able  to 
visit  my  good  friend.  Bishop  Knickerbacker,  in  Indian- 
apolis, which  was  a  mutual  satisfaction  and  blessing  to 
us  both.  I  addressed  his  diocesan  convention  and  girls' 
school. 

All  the  spring  and  summer  three  large  buildings  were 
going  up  in  Kearney  for  our  own  Church  school.  We 
opened  the  school  September  6th,  with  seven  teachers 
and  a  good  attendance  of  pupils.  At  first  we  had 
both  boys  and  girls  among  the  pupils.  Much  of  my 
time  had  been  spent  in  looking  after  the  building  and 
preparing  for  the  opening.  Soon  after  the  school 
opened,  I  went  east  to  raise  money  for  our  work  and 
attend  the  General  Convention.  I  pleaded  the  cause 
of  our  missionary  work  in  fifteen  cities  and  made  some 
more  good  friends.  At  the  General  Convention  we 
worked  on  revising  the  Prayer  Book  and  elected  seven 
missionary   bishops.      During   the   year   I   visited   all 


126  The  Farmer  Boy 

our  missionary  stations  twice  and  conducted  the  services 
of  our  Church  in  nine  new  places. 

I  was  able  to  report  to  the  Board  of  Missions,  Sep- 
tember 1st,  as  follows: 

"  At  the  end  of  two  years  and  eight  months,  I  can 
report  the  work  in  this  District  well  organized  and  sys- 
tematized. All  parishes  and  missions  are  filled  with 
energetic  clergymen.  The  active  clergy  have  increased 
from  six  to  eleven;  the  communicants  from  three  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  to  nine  hundred  and  fifty;  the 
baptisms  from  eighty-five  a  year  to  two  hundred  and 
twelve;  the  confirmations  from  about  fifty  to  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty;  Church  debts  have  decreased  by  thir- 
teen thousand,  four  hundred  and  sixty-two  dollars; 
Church  property  has  been  acquired  to  the  value  of 
thirty-four  thousand,  six  hundred  and  seventy-five  dol- 
lars. Although  the  times  were  still  very  hard,  the 
Lord  seemed  to  prosper  us  in  financial  as  well  as  in 
spiritual  matters. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1  893. 

A  T  the  beginning  of  Lent,  I  held  a  seven  days'  mis- 
^^  sion  at  our  school,  preaching  each  evening  and 
answering  questions.  When  at  home,  I  have  gen- 
erally conducted  service  on  Sunday  evenings  at  the 
school. 


IVfw  Became  a  Bishop  127 

On  the  twenty-third  of  March,  a  baby  boy  was 
born  to  us — the  last  of  six  children — four  boys  and 
two  girls. 

On  Ascension  Day,  I  consecrated  a  new  church  at 
North  Platte,  Rev.  L.  P.  McDonald,  rector.  It  had 
been  just  twenty  years  to  a  day  since  the  first  little 
chapel  was  consecrated  at  which  I  was  also  present, 
being  then  rector  of  the  church  at  Plattsmouth,  in  the 
eastern  part  of  the  state.  Bishop  Clarkson  and  Dean 
Garrett  were  also  present.  I  received  a  call  at  that 
time  to  become  the  first  missionary  there,  but  declined 
the  call.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  first  service 
ever  held  in  North  Platte  was  by  Bishop  Tuttle,  then 
on  his  way  out  to  Salt  Lake  for  the  first  time. 

About  the  middle  of  May  I  took  a  trip  with  Rev. 
Mr.  Bates  to  our  sod  church  at  Kennedy.  In  the 
three  days  we  drove  eighty  miles,  held  two  services 
with  baptism  and  confirmation  and  secured  seventy 
game  birds  with  our  guns.  A  few  days  later,  at  Bas- 
sett,  besides  calling  on  all  our  people,  we  bagged  nine- 
teen birds.  Such  recreation,  while  not  interfering  with 
our  work,  was  a  great  relief  from  the  steady  grind  of 
travel,  calls  and  preaching.  I  might  say  here  that  Rev. 
Mr.  Bates,  while  in  charge  of  from  twelve  to  eighteen 
stations,  took  up  the  study  of  Botany  for  recreation. 
He  became  an  expert  botanist,  well  known  at  the 
Smithsonian  Institute  and  Columbia  University.  He 
discovered   over   a   hundred   plants,   which   were   not 


128  The  Farmer  Bo)) 

known  to  exist  in  Nebraska,  and  found  several  which 
were  not  known  to  science  anywhere. 

After  the  school  closed  in  June,  my  two  older  chil- 
dren and  myself  visited  the  World's  Fair  in  Chicago 
for  two  weeks.  All  that  year  the  plastering  had  been 
falling  off  the  eighty  rooms  in  the  dormitories  of  our 
school,  owing  to  the  worthless  lime  used  in  the  work. 
To  replaster  them  cost  us  eleven  hundred  dollars,  and 
was  a  hard  blow  to  the  school.  After  a  law-suit,  which 
dragged  along  for  five  years,  we  got  six  hundred  dollars 
in  damages. 

In  August  three  of  my  children  drove  with  me  on  a 
camping  trip  up  to  the  headwaters  of  the  South  Fork 
of  the  Loup  River.  This  was  partly  to  investigate  two 
county  seats  off  the  railroad,  where  our  missionaries 
had  never  been,  but  was  chiefly  for  recreation.  We 
camped  over  Sunday  at  the  source  of  the  river  and 
held  service  in  the  open  air.  We  went  across  the 
valley  to  a  sod  hut  to  beg  some  kindling  wood.  We 
found  a  lone  woman  there  who  said  she  had  not  burned 
a  stick  of  wood  or  piece  of  coal  for  two  years.  All  the 
cooking  and  heating  were  done  with  "  cow  chips." 
We  asked  for  a  small  pail  of  drinking  water,  but  she 
could  not  spare  that,  as  her  man  was  away  from  home 
and  water  had  to  be  brought  three  miles  in  a  barrel. 
We  did  not  wonder  that  so  many  of  the  inmates  of 
our  insane  asylums  are  women  from  the  lonely  ranches 
and  farms. 

In  September,  Rev.  Mr.  Beecher  and  myself  were 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  129 

on  our  long  driving  trip  at  Gering,  holding  service  in  the 
Methodist  church.  I  w^as  nearly  through  the  sermon, 
when  there  seemed  to  be  a  strange  light  in  the  church. 
Looking  out  of  the  window,  we  saw  a  neighboring 
building  on  fire.  In  thirty  seconds  all  had  left  the 
church  but  myself  and  a  woman  who  had  driven  forty 
miles  to  attend  the  service.  After  disrobing,  gathering 
up  the  service  books  and  putting  out  the  lights,  I  also 
went  to  the  fire.  I  saw  our  missionary  on  the  top  of 
the  building  next  to  the  fire  dashing  pails  of  water  on 
the  fire  as  they  were  passed  up  to  him  from  below.  He 
was  a  stalwart  man,  six  feet  and  three  inches  tall,  and 
made  a  heroic  figure  between  us  and  the  flames.  He 
became  very  popular  there  from  that  time,  and  fifteen 
years  after  was  sent  for  five  hundred  miles  to  perform 
a  wedding  in  the  place.  At  this  writing,  1911,  he  is 
bishop  of  that  country  in  my  place. 

Later  in  the  fall  I  visited  a  number  of  stations  in 
Minnesota  for  Bishop  Gilbert  and  after  that  attended 
the  Missionary  Council  in  Chicago.  The  following  is 
from  my  report  to  the  Board  of  Missions: 

"  The  past  year  has  been  one  of  steady  progress  in 
our  missionary  efforts.  The  working  force  of  our 
clergy  is  enlarged ;  the  baptisms  and  confirmations  have 
increased  more  than  twenty  per  cent  and  our  money  of- 
ferings more  than  thirty  per  cent  over  any  previous 
year.  Our  Church  debts  have  been  mostly  paid 
off.  Our  permanent  property  has  increased  by  five 
thousand  dollars.  I  consecrated  one  church  and 
opened  and  blessed  three  new  chapels.      I  delivered 


130  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

two  hundred  and  eighty-five  sermons  or  addresses,  con- 
firmed one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  persons,  ordained 
one  to  the  priesthood  and  two  to  the  diaconate.  In 
mid-winter  there  were  one  hundred  and  ten  pupils  in 
our  Church  school." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

1  894. 

F^URING  the  winter  we  had  no  one  at  our  school 
^—^  who  could  teach  Greek,  and  I  heard  the  class 
recite  whenever  I  was  at  home.  I  also  held  service  and 
preached  often  at  the  school.  Until  my  territory  and 
responsibilities  were  enlarged,  I  visited  all  stations  in 
my  district  twice  a  year.  At  that  time  I  had  a  pass  on 
the  railroads  and  thought  nothing  of  going  two  hundred 
miles  to  hold  a  service  or  officiate  at  a  funeral.  In 
those  days  I  often  carried  my  shotgun  along,  as  game 
was  quite  plenty.  Driving  through  the  country,  we 
often  found  ponds  where  ducks  and  snipe  gathered. 
Rabbits,  and  in  some  parts,  quails  were  plenty.  In  the 
smaller  hamlets  I  could  visit  all  around  in  half  a  day 
and  the  other  half  I  could  hunt  for  recreation,  holding 
service  in  the  evening.  For  example,  my  diary  reads: 
"  March  29th.  At  Palisade  (a  place  of  about  one 
hundred  inhabitants).  Bill  the  town  for  service  and 
make  calls  A.  M.     Hunt  P.  M.  along  the  Frenchman 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  131 

Creek,  getting  seven  ducks.  Evening,  fifty  at  service 
in  Congregational  church."  In  the  smaller  places  we 
often  had  half  the  inhabitants  at  service.  Sometimes 
we  would  drive  twenty-five  miles  between  morning  and 
evening  services  in  order  to  reach  two  places  on  Sun- 
day. 

One  of  the  interesting  trips  which  I  made  twice  this 
year  with  the  missionary.  Rev.  G.  A.  Beecher,  after- 
wards Dean  of  the  cathedral  at  Omaha,  was  to  drive 
from  Sidney  to  the  stations  on  the  North  Platte  River. 
It  took  a  week  with  service  every  evening  and  the  dis- 
tance covered  was  two  hundred  miles.  Sometimes  we 
took  two  teams,  a  camping  outfit  and  some  ladies  who 
were  good  singers,  to  help  with  the  Church  music. 
The  places  reached  were  usually  Camp  Clark,  Bayard, 
Gering,  Harrisburg  and  Kimball.  On  the  fall  trip  this 
year,  as  we  were  walking  to  church  at  Harrisburg,  we 
heard  the  double  report  of  a  gun.  Very  few  were  at 
service  that  night.  After  service  we  went  to  the  princi- 
pal store  to  find  a  coroner's  jury  in  session  and  the  body 
of  a  tall  cow-boy  dead  upon  the  floor.  We  were  told 
that  he  came  into  the  store  drunk,  threatening  the  store- 
keeper and  made  a  motion  as  if  reaching  for  his  re- 
volver. The  store-keeper  seized  a  repeating  shotgun 
and  shot  him  twice.  At  the  trial  he  was  acquitted,  but, 
brooding  over  it  all,  he  became  insane  and  soon  after 
died. 

When  I  first  came  to  the  District  of  The  Platte,  we 
had  three  army  posts,  Forts  Sidney,  Niobrara  and  Rob- 


132  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

inson.  On  my  rounds,  I  always  held  services  in  them, 
being  heartily  welcomed  and  entertained  by  the  officers. 
I  once  came  to  Fort  Robinson  when  the  soldiers  were 
having  their  annual  target  practice.  Lieutenant  God- 
son induced  me  to  shoot  with  the  soldiers  at  a  target 
five  hundred  yards  away.  I  took  five  shots  and  had 
the  good  luck  to  make  fourteen  points  out  of  a  possible 
twenty-five.  The  average  of  the  dozen  soldiers  who 
were  shooting  was  eleven  and  a  half  points  out  of  a 
possible  twenty-five.  It  was  very  windy  and  a  bad 
day  for  shooting,  so  it  must  have  been  mostly  good  luck 
that  helped  me  beat  the  soldiers. 

Sometimes  in  order  to  meet  my  next  appointment,  I 
had  to  take  a  night  ride.  On  the  first  of  June  I  was 
at  Grant,  in  the  western  part  of  the  state.  After  evening 
service,  the  liveryman  drove  me  eighteen  miles  to 
Cgalalla,  to  take  an  early  morning  train.  It  was  very 
dark  and  he  drove  slowly,  so  it  took  us  most  of  the 
night.  With  all  his  caution,  he  ran  into  a  barbed  wire 
fence,  which  cut  the  horses  some,  but  not  badly. 
Horses  were  sometimes  maimed  for  life  and  even  killed 
in  that  way. 

On  the  twenty-ninth  of  June  I  started  with  three  of 
my  children  for  our  summer  vacation.  We  drove  four 
hundred  miles  into  the  sand  hill  country  northwest  of 
Kearney,  camping  by  the  way  every  night.  Sometimes 
we  would  drive  nearly  a  whole  day  without  seeing  a 
house.  Generally  we  followed  dim  trails  through  the 
hills,  but  often  keeping  our  direction  by  the  compass 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  133 

only.  For  hours  we  would  not  know  where  we  were 
until  we  came  to  some  lonely  ranch  house  to  inquire. 
In  ten  days  we  reached  our  little  sod  church  at  Ken- 
nedy, where  we  spent  Sunday  and  held  service.  The 
missionary  from  Valentine,  Rev.  Mr.  Bates,  met  us 
there.  With  him  and  Mr.  Piercy,  warden  and  lay- 
reader  of  the  mission,  we  drove  a  few  miles  to  Swan 
Lake,  where  we  camped  for  several  days.  There  we 
caught  black  bass,  but  had  to  cook  them  and  all  our 
food  with  cow  chips,  as  there  were  no  trees  within 
twenty  miles. 

On  our  way  back  we  camped  one  night  near  a  ranch- 
man's house  on  Beaver  Lake.  When  we  drove  up,  his 
two  daughters  were  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  swimming 
for  shore.  The  ranchman  had  a  pack  of  hungry  dogs, 
which  had  to  hunt  for  their  food,  as  well  as  for  the 
ranchman.  While  we  were  in  the  house  for  a  few 
minutes,  they  stole  a  kettle  of  hot  stew  off  the  camp 
stove  and  also  a  tin  pail  full  of  eggs.  Only  for  the 
kindness  of  the  family,  we  might  have  gone  supperless 
to  bed.  Afterwards  one  of  those  girls  was  working  her 
way  through  our  Church  school  in  Kearney  and  be- 
came an  earnest  communicant  of  the  Church.  The 
next  Sunday  we  camped  by  a  ranch  on  the  Loup 
River  and  held  service  in  the  house  many  miles  from 
any  village.  One  night  we  camped  near  a  house  where 
a  little  girl  had  been  bitten  by  a  rattle-snake  and  died  a 
few  days  before  we  came.  We  averaged  about  thirty 
miles  a  day,  and  reached  home  the  last  of  July.     We 


134  The  Farmer  Bo}) 

had  been  gone  just  a  month  and  had  slept  in  a  house 
only  a  few  times. 

The  summer  of  1 894  was  a  remarkable  and  most 
critical  summer  for  western  Nebraska.  Hot  winds 
from  the  south  blew  for  weeks  at  a  time.  No  rain  nor 
even  cloud  came  to  shield  the  crops.  The  thermometer 
ranged  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifteen 
degrees,  Fahrenheit,  in  the  shade.  The  air  was  filled 
with  a  fine,  impalpable  dust,  which  made  the  sun  look 
dark  red  like  a  ball  of  fire.  The  wheat  and  oats  were 
dried  up  before  they  ripened.  The  corn  everywhere 
turned  white  and  dead  when  two  or  three  feet  high. 
As  the  people  expressed  it,  **  the  crops  were  fired." 
Pigs  and  chickens  wandered  miles  from  home  in  search 
of  food,  and  many  of  them  starved  to  death.  The 
wild  sunflowers,  dwarfed  by  the  drought,  were  gath- 
ered for  feed  and  fuel.  In  August  and  early  autumn, 
thousands  of  settlers  refitted  the  covered  wagons  in 
which  they  had  come  to  the  country,  loaded  in  what 
things  they  had  left  and  moved  away.  It  was  a  sad 
sight  to  see  them  wending  their  way  slowly  over  the 
prairies,  homeless  and  broken-hearted.  Some  went  into 
the  mountains  farther  west  and  some  back  eastward  to 
their  early  homes.  One  day  I  met  several  such  wagons 
crossing  a  bridge  over  the  Platte  River.  I  asked  them 
where  they  were  from?  They  answered,  *'  Perkins 
County."  Where  are  you  going?  "  Don't  know,  got 
to  get  out  of  this."  A  woman  I  knew  who  owned  a 
reaper  and  horses  cut  several  hundred  acres  of  wheat 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  135 

on  deserted  farms  and  secured  hardly  enough  to  bread 
her  family.  Here  and  there  was  a  head  of  wheat  with 
two  or  three  kernels  in  it.  I  did  not  see  a  single  ear 
of  corn  raised  that  year  in  western  Nebraska.  If  pro- 
visions and  clothing  had  not  come  from  the  east  by 
car-loads,  hardly  anyone  would  have  been  left  in  the 
land.  As  it  was,  I  traveled  twenty-five  miles  in  Holt 
County  without  passing  an  inhabited  house  where  be- 
fore all  the  land  had  been  occupied.  Other  counties 
were  as  bad  and  some  of  them  were  worse.  In  some 
of  the  villages  and  even  in  Kearney  nearly  half  of  the 
houses  were  vacant.  The  people  had  come  out  poor, 
taken  up  homesteads  and  exhausted  all  their  means  in 
improvements,  so  they  had  nothing  left  when  the 
drought  came.  Our  missionaries  everywhere  became 
agents  for  distributing  charity  from  the  east.  I  received 
over  a  thousand  dollars  without  solicitation  for  the  pur- 
pose. Eighteen  hundred  and  ninety  had  been  a  very 
bad  year  and  broke  up  many  homes,  but  this  was  worse 
and  took  the  heart  and  hope  out  of  our  people.  Many 
farms,  which  were  deserted  then,  sold  fifteen  years 
later  for  twenty-five  to  eighty  dollars  an  acre. 

At  the  beginning  of  1894,  I  was  able  to  report  to 
the  Board  of  Missions  as  follows:  "  In  four  years  our 
mission  stations  have  increased  f roni  nineteen  to  seventy ; 
our  clergy  from  six  to  fourteen ;  the  communicants  from 
three  hundred  and  seventy-five  to  one  thousand  one 
hundred  and  seventy-three ;  the  baptisms  from  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty-six  to  two  hundred  and  sixty-six;  the 


136  The  Farmer  Boy 

confirmations  from  sixty-three  to  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
nine;  the  number  of  services  from  one  thousand  one 
hundred  and  forty-eight  to  two  thousand  four  hundred 
and  six;  communions  administered  from  one  hundred 
and  ninety-six  to  five  hundred  and  forty-seven;  Sunday 
school  teachers  and  pupils  from  four  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  to  nine  hundred  and  thirteen;  value  of  Church 
property  from  forty-nine  thousand  six  hundred  and  ten 
to  ninety-nine  thousand  five  hundred  and  forty-six  dol- 
lars ;  debts  decreased  from  seventeen  thousand  three  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  dollars  and  eighty-nine  cents  to  three 
thousand  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  dollars  and 
seven  cents;  receipts  from  the  District  increased  from 
eight  thousand  three  hundred  and  five  dollars  and  sev- 
enty-eight cents  to  twenty  thousand,  five  hundred  and 
sixteen  dollars  and  twenty-three  cents.  That  year  I 
visited  all  stations  twice,  delivered  two  hundred  and 
seventy  sermons  or  addresses  and  administered  com- 
munion sixty-eight  times.  Our  Church  school  was  kept 
going  only  by  help  from  outside. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
1  895. 


A  FTER  our  convocation  early  in  January,  I  spent 
-'^  six  weeks  in  the  east  soliciting  funds  to  support 
our  missionaries  and  school.     The  drought  and  Ii.-^rd 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  137 

times  had  driven  me  to  this.  I  visited  more  than  twenty 
cities,  making  addresses  and  appeals  nearly  every  day 
before  congregations,  branches  of  the  Woman's  Aux- 
iliary, Sunday  schools  and  individuals.  I  did  not  like 
that  kind  of  work,  but  I  got  the  needed  money  and 
made  many  friends,  some  of  whom  helped  our  work 
years  afterwards. 

From  the  middle  of  March  to  the  middle  of  June  I 
was  constantly  on  the  road,  preaching  and  confirming 
almost  every  night.  On  one  of  my  trips,  I  was  away 
from  home  five  weeks,  which  was  the  case  once  or  twice 
each  year.  For  a  vacation  and  change  that  summer  I 
took  our  four  older  children  and  a  daughter  of  one  of 
our  missionaries  up  into  the  mountains  in  Colorado  and 
camped  beside  the  Poudre  Cache  River.  There  for 
three  weeks  we  rested  and  fished  for  trout,  catching  all 
we  could  use  in  camp. 

Early  in  September,  with  the  missionary.  Rev.  Geo. 
A.  Beecher,  I  visited  the  stations  on  the  North  Platte 
River.  Starting  from  Sidney,  we  drove  northwest 
fifty  miles,  passing  on  the  way  through  a  swarm  of 
grasshoppers  five  miles  in  extent.  They  had  eaten 
all  the  prairie  grass  and  a  flock  of  seventy-five  hawks 
and  a  bald  eagle  were  eating  the  grasshoppers.  At 
sunset  we  came  to  the  Post  Office  of  Silverthorne,  kept 
in  a  sod  house  of  two  rooms  by  the  family  who  had 
invited  us  to  come.  That  evening  we  held  service  in 
a  sod  school-house  near  by,  having  a  lamp  on  our 
desk  and  a  lantern  hung  from  the  roof  to  light  the  peo- 


138  The  Farmer  Boy 

pie.  After  returning  to  the  house,  the  man  requested 
us  to  baptize  him,  which  we  did.  Then  for  an  hour 
or  more  we  instructed  him,  his  wife  and  daughter  in 
the  fundamental  principles  of  the  Christian  religion. 
Then  the  three  were  confirmed  and  received  the  holy 
communion.  As  the  place  was  off  our  usual  beat,  there 
was  no  certainty  of  our  being  there  again,  hence  we 
crowded  these  functions  together,  working  until  after 
midnight.  The  daughter  then  went  off  to  another 
ranch  where  she  was  working.  As  there  were  but  two 
rooms  and  one  bed  in  the  house,  we  divided  the  bed  as 
follows.  Tlie  man  and  his  wife  took  the  mattress  andt 
gave  us  the  springs.  We  placed  the  springs  on  four 
chairs  in  the  kitchen,  put  under  and  over  us  the  blankets 
we  had  brought  along  and  thus  spent  the  rest  of  the 
night. 

The  second  night  after  we  came  to  Bayard  and  held 
service  there.  After  service  a  young  woman  and  her 
husband  remained  sitting  on  the  front  seat.  I  stepped 
down  and  spoke  to  them.  The  woman  looked  up  into 
my  face  and  said,  *'  Mr.  Graves,  don't  you  remember 
me?  "  I  could  not  recall  her  looks  or  her  name  and 
she  seemed  disappointed  and  exclaimed,  "  Why,  you 
held  me  in  your  arms  as  a  little  baby  and  baptized  me." 
That  was  true  and  took  place  over  twenty  years  before 
at  Plattsmouth,  Nebraska.  Now  she,  her  husband  and 
father  had  driven  in  eight  miles  to  see  and  hear  their 
old  pastor. 

After  service  Mr.  Beecher  refused  to  go  into  the 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1  39 

little  tavern  fearing  the  insects  which  were  too  common 
in  such  places  during  warm  weather.  We  then  drove 
on  five  miles  by  moonlight  until  we  came  in  sight  of  a 
windmill  where  we  knew  we  could  get  water  in  the 
morning.  We  turned  out  of  the  road  on  to  the  prairie, 
unhitched  the  horses  and  tethered  them  with  long  ropes 
so  they  could  eat  grass.  We  then  took  out  our  roll  of 
blankets  and  spread  them  on  the  ground.  Mr.  Beecher 
on  crawling  in  between  the  blankets  gave  a  groan  as 
something  sharp  pierced  his  side.  On  looking  we  found 
we  had  spread  our  blankets  over  a  thorny  cactus  half 
buried  in  the  sand.  I  dug  it  out  with  the  heel  of  my 
shoe  and  we  slept  peacefully  under  the  open  sky.  The 
next  morning  we  watered  the  horses  at  the  windmill 
and  got  our  breakfast  in  the  ranchhouse. 

The  latter  part  of  September  I  went  camping  with 
the  old  party  from  Lake  City,  Minnesota.  We  went 
by  train  and  wagon  through  the  forest  to  Clam  Lake, 
Wisconsin,  where  for  twelve  days  we  camped,  hunted 
and  fished.  On  the  way  back  I  attended  the  General 
Convention  which  met  that  year  in  my  old  church, 
Gethsemane,  Minneapolis.  At  that  convention  the  con- 
stitution of  the  church  was  thoroughly  revised  and  the 
first  bishops  elected  for  Alaska  and  Kyoto,  Japan. 
Before  Christmas  I  had  visited  again  nearly  all  the 
stations  in  my  district. 


140  The  Farmer  Boy 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

1896. 

T^HE  problem  of  keeping  a  large  mission  alive  and 
*  pushing  the  work  in  other  missions  connected  with 
it  during  a  vacancy  confronts  all  our  frontier  bishops. 
Lay-readers  can  rarely  be  found  for  such  work  and 
clergymen  are  too  expensive  and  difficult  to  find.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  Godly  and  accomplished  women 
might  do  such  work  for  a  while  in  places  where  we 
cannot  afford  to  locate  a  clergyman.  Early  in  this 
j'^ear  I  found  such  a  lady.  Miss  Bertha  Childe,  a  uni- 
versity graduate  and  a  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Tribune.  I  gave  her  such  special  instructions  as  I  could 
and  a  lay-reader's  license.  She  was  to  organize  and 
superintend  Sunday  school,  conduct  a  lay  service  Sun- 
day afternoons,  reading  printed  sermons  or  a  short 
paper  of  her  own  composition,  organize  and  direct  a 
ladies'  guild,  conduct  a  sewing  class  for  little  girls  and 
call  at  regular  intervals  on  every  family  in  the  village. 
Miss  Childe  did  this  work  most  acceptably  in  different 
places  for  several  years  until  a  banker  took  her  to  wife. 
I  had  four  other  women  at  different  times  who  under- 
took like  work,  one  of  whom  came  from  a  deaconess 
training  school  and  whom  I  set  apart  as  a  deaconess. 
The  chief  difficulty  in  this  experiment  has  been  the  lack 
of  such  well  trained  women  here  in  the  west.  There 
must  be  hundreds  of  such  women  in  the  east  who  might 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  141 

with  some  training  do  a  blessed  work  and  keep  them- 
selves sweet  and  attractive  for  many  years. 

In  my  spring  visitations  in  1896  I  tried  also  another 
experiment.  That  was  to  drive  all  around  my  stations 
with  a  team  of  horses  instead  of  taking  the  cars.  I  had 
bought  a  pair  of  missionary  ponies,  weighing  about 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  each,  for  Rev.  Mr. 
Beecher  to  use  in  his  long  string  of  missions  off  the  rail- 
road. He  had  now  gone  to  the  parish  at  North  Platte, 
so  I  took  the  ponies  and  drove  to  all  my  stations  except 
a  few  on  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad.  Although  our 
stations  are  not  near  together,  averaging  about  twenty- 
five  miles  apart,  I  was  able  to  make  one  each  day  ex- 
cept on  two  or  three  long  stretches  and  did  not  miss  a 
single  appointment.  Sometimes  I  drove  fifty  and 
even  fifty-five  miles  in  a  day.  Notwithstanding  the 
exposure  and  fatigue,  the  out-of-door  life  kept  me  well 
and  strong.  One  day  I  came  near  missing  an  appoint- 
ment when  I  had  to  make  twenty-six  miles  through 
snow,  rain,  hail,  slush,  thunder  and  lightning.  At 
times  the  ponies  refused  to  face  the  storm.  I  reached 
the  mission  at  Wood  Lake  just  in  time  for  evening  ser- 
vice. Cold  and  wet  I  hastened  to  the  school-house.  I 
had  a  good  supper,  but  not  until  after  the  service.  One 
time  I  had  one  hundred  and  five  miles  to  make  between 
Kennedy  and  Gordon  through  the  unfenced  sand-hills. 
I  followed  trails  when  they  went  my  way.  Much  of 
the  way  my  only  guide  was  the  compass  and  my  only 
road  the  grass  of  the  prairie.     I   forded  the  Snake 


142  The  Farmer  Bo"^ 

River  where  the  banks  were  three  feet  perpendicular 
on  both  sides.  A  part  of  the  harness  broke,  but  the 
ponies  pulled  me  out.  I  generally  found  at  night  some 
ranchman's  hut  where  I  was  always  welcome.  One 
of  those  nights  I  was  entertained  by  a  ranchman  whose 
name  was  Dan  Webster.  I  drove  about  fifteen  hun- 
dred miles  that  spring  and  both  driver  and  horses 
came  out  in  good  condition.  As  the  railroads  in  those 
days  furnished  me  with  passes,  I  did  not  continue  the 
practice  of  driving,  but  it  proved  that  the  thing  could 
be  done  with  a  good  team  and  would  be  delightful 
with  an  automobile. 

In  the  summer  I  made  a  short  visit  to  my  college  and 
seminary  friend.  Rev.  P.  B.  Lightner,  then  rector  at 
Manitou  Springs,  Colorado.  In  September  I  went 
camping  with  Rev.  C.  H.  Plummer,  Isaac  and  William 
Richardson  of  Lake  City,  Minnesota.  We  camped 
again  on  Clam  Lake,  Northern  Wisconsin.  On  Sun- 
day we  held  service  in  the  house  of  a  Swede  near  by 
and  baptized  his  child.  Later  in  the  fall  I  attended  a 
meeting  of  the  House  of  Bishops  in  New  York  and 
visited  my  oldest  son  then  in  Hobart  College,  Geneva, 
N.  Y.  On  my  way  home  I  stopped  at  the  Missionary 
Council  in  Cincinnati.  I  quote  from  my  seventh  annual 
report  as  follows: 

"  The  past  year  has  been  somewhat  more  cheering 
in  the  Missionary  District  of  The  Platte  than  the  two 
previous  years  of  drought  and  famine.  Although  the 
crops  have  been  light  and  the  price  of  our  products 


IVho  Became  a  BisJiop  143 

low,  keeping  our  people  poor,  yet  there  has  been  this 
year  no  unusual  destitution  and  suffering.  People  have 
continued  to  move  out  of  the  District,  but  not  in  large 
numbers  as  heretofore.  None  of  our  clergy  have  left 
us.  As  heretofore  our  missionaries  have  had  charge  of 
large  districts  with  care  of  from  six  to  fifteen  stations. 
This  involves  travel  on  their  part  of  from  four  hundred 
to  eight  hundred  miles  a  month  and  absence  from  home 
much  of  the  time.  Yet  all  are  cheerful  and  stay  by 
their  work.  I  do  not  believe  a  nobler  band  of  mission- 
aries can  be  found  in  the  Church  than  we  have  in  The 
Platte.  I  want  to  record  their  names  here:  Revs.  J. 
M.  Bates,  W.  S.  Sayres,  L.  P.  McDonald,  H.  J. 
Brown,  S.  A.  Potter,  G.  A.  Beecher,  R.  L.  Knox, 
H.  E.  Robbins,  F.  Durant,  E.  D.  Irvine,  Thomas 
Bakes,  L.  H.  Young,  J.  Senior,  Howard  Stoy,  R. 
M.  Hardman,  Richard  Whitehouse,  W.  H.  Xanders, 
G.  B.  Clarke,  E.  R.  Earle,  W.  W.  Wells,  A.  H. 
Tyrer,  J.  R.  Jenkins,  W.  H.  Frost,  J.  L.  Craig,  A.  W. 
Bell,  Wm.  Toole,  J.  A.  Tancock,  P.  B.  Peabody,  F. 
D.  Graves,  G.  G.  Bennett,  A.  J.  R.  Goldsmith,  G.  L. 
Freebern.  Not  all  of  these  were  with  me  at  this  par- 
ticular time,  but  all  of  them  won  spurs  in  my  Dis- 
trict and  I  should  like  to  give  them  all  crowns.  The 
work  is  done  systematically  by  these  men  and  reported 
every  month  to  the  Bishop.  On  each  visitation  I  spend 
from  one  to  two  weeks  with  each  missionary,  talking 
over  individual  cases  and  difficulties,  visiting  isolated 
families  and  considering  the  possibilities  of  new  open- 
ings. Outside  a  few  of  the  larger  places,  the  Bishop  is 
seen  once  or  twice  a  year  in  the  home  of  almost  every 
family  interested  in  the  Church. 

"  Advantage  has  been  taken  of  the  very  low  price 


144  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

of  real  estate  to  secure  Church  property  which  will 
eventually  be  a  great  help  in  extending  the  work.  At 
Arapahoe  the  Ladies'  Guild  bought  a  house  and  two 
lots  for  three  hundred  dollars,  which  originally  cost 
eight  hundred  dollars.  At  Bloomington  a  Lutheran 
church  was  bought  for  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
which  cost  at  first  eighteen  hundred  dollars.  At  Mc- 
Cook  two  lots  beside  the  church  were  secured 
and  a  house  bought  and  moved  on  to  them  for  a  rectory. 
At  O'Neill  the  ladies  have  secured  five  lots  in  the  cen- 
tral part  of  the  town  and  fitted  up  an  old  office  building 
for  a  chapel.  I  also  secured  lots  in  other  places. 
Growing  confidence  in  our  work  and  careful  use  of  our 
means  have  induced  such  voluntary  gifts  from  the  east 
as  have  enabled  us  to  sustain  the  work  without  going 
away  to  solicit  funds." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
1  897. 

THE  first  of  January  I  accepted  temporary  charge 
of  the  Missionary  District  of  Northern  California. 
Bishop  Wingfield  who  had  been  bishop  of  that  Dis- 
trict for  many  years  had  received  a  stroke  of  paralysis 
which  crippled  him  for  work  and  confined  him  to  his 
house.  The  care  of  the  District  therefore  fell  to  the 
Presiding  Bishop  of  the  Church,  Bishop  Williams  of 
Connecticut.    He  appointed  me  to  the  work  in  addition 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  145 

to  that  of  my  own  District.  I  first  conferred  with 
Bishop  Nichols  of  San  Francisco  and  Bishop  Leonard 
of  Salt  Lake  who  had  been  doing  some  work  in 
Northern  California.  I  also  went  to  see  Bishop  Wing- 
field  who  warmly  welcomed  me  to  the  task.  I  then 
made  a  thorough  visitation  of  the  District  confirming 
candidates,  encouraging  the  clergy  and  securing  some 
new  men  for  the  work.  This  kept  me  busy  until  the 
5th  of  April  when  I  returned  to  Nebraska. 

On  Easter  Tuesday  Mrs.  Graves  and  myself  cele- 
brated the  twentieth  anniversary  of  our  wedding,  in- 
viting in  twenty  friends  for  the  evening.  Two  boys, 
David  and  Paul,  had  been  born  to  us  in  Nebraska. 
On  the  fourth  of  May  I  confirmed  a  remarkable  class 
of  twenty-three  in  the  little  village  of  Culbertson.  It 
came  about  in  this  way.  The  Methodists  and  Pres- 
byterians had  united  for  a  revival  and  employed  a  noted 
lay  evangelist.  He  succeeded  in  stirring  up  the  whole 
town  in  religious  matters.  We  had  been  holding  ser- 
vices there  once  a  month  by  a  lay-reader  from  Mc- 
Cook.  The  leading  business  men  talked  over  the  matter 
among  themselves  and  agreed  to  unite  with  the  Epis- 
copal Church.  They  sought  instruction  from  our  lay- 
reader  who  was  a  seminary  graduate  and  thoroughly 
competent.  The  day  of  the  confirmation  I  gave  the 
Holy  Communion  to  twenty-seven  persons  in  Culbert- 
son. To  show  the  difficulties  of  our  western  work  I 
would  state  that  ten  years  later  only  one  communicant 
was  left  in  Culbertson,  all  the  others  having  moved 


146  The  Farmer  Boy 

away.  Two  days  after  the  confirmation  in  Culbertson  I 
gave  communion  to  twenty-eight  in  Trenton.  Ten  years 
later  there  were  only  four  left  there.  I  could  name  a 
dozen  places  in  my  District  which  have  had  a  some- 
what similar  experience.  On  the  twenty-first  of  May 
I  preached  to  eighty  people  in  the  school-house  at 
Wood  Lake,  that  number  being  more  than  the  entire 
inhabitants  of  the  village,  some  coming  miles  from  the 
country.     I  could  recall  many  experiences  of  that  kind. 

During  July  I  attended  the  sessions  of  the  Lambeth 
Conference  in  London,  England.  About  one  hun- 
dred bishops  were  present  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  I  arrived  there  the  day  it  opened  and  started 
for  home  the  day  it  closed,  hurrying  back  to  my  double 
charge  in  California  and  Nebraska.  During  the  brief 
intermission  between  sessions  of  the  conference  I  visited 
five  families  in  England  who  had  relatives  in  my  Dis- 
trict. 

On  my  return  I  made  many  visitations  in  The  Platte 
and  started  September  29th  with  my  wife  for  Northern 
California.  I  was  busy  there  until  Christmas,  my  wife 
going  to  most  of  the  places  with  me,  meeting  with  the 
various  ladies'  guilds  and  organizing  a  number  of 
branches  of  the  Woman's  Auxiliary  to  the  Board  of 
Missions.  Among  other  things  I  delivered  a  course  of 
lectures  to  the  divinity  students  at  San  Mateo. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  147 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

1  898. 

T  BEGAN  my  visitations  this  year  in  January  so  as 
*  to  get  through  in  time  to  go  to  CaHfornia  in  the 
spring.  April  4th  I  was  at  Fort  Robinson  just 
before  the  breaking  out  of  the  war  with  Spain  and 
addressed  the  soldiers  on  the  subject  of  the  war  which 
seemed  imminent.  After  service  Colonel  Hamilton 
who  entertained  me  said :  "  We  have  practiced  loading 
our  horses  on  the  cars  and  are  ready  to  start  for  the  war 
at  a  moment's  notice,  but  I  think  the  difficulty  will  be 
fixed  up  in  some  way  and  that  there  will  be  no  war." 
Two  days  after  that  his  regiment  was  off  for  the  war 
and  in  three  months  he  died  a  hero  at  the  battle  of  San 
Juan  Hill. 

On  the  third  of  May  I  started  for  Northern  Cali- 
fornia, visiting  Bishop  Leonard  and  his  institutions  at 
Salt  Lake  on  the  way.  Before  the  end  of  June  I  visited 
thirty-three  places,  started  several  news  missions  where 
churches  were  built  soon  after  and  closed  up  my  work 
as  far  as  the  District  of  Northern  California  was  con- 
cerned. In  the  autumn.  Bishop  Wingfield  having  died, 
the  General  Convention  elected  Rev.  W.  H.  Moreland 
bishop  of  Northern  California.  This  relieved  me  of 
that  additional  work.  With  my  family  we  spent  two 
months  of  the  summer  at  Evergreen,  Colorado,  in  the 
mountains  west  of  Denver.     I  held  services  every  Sun- 


148  The  Farmer  Boy 

day  in  the  little  chapel  there.     We  caught  many  trout 
and  were  greatly  refreshed  by  the  rest  and  change. 

The  last  of  August  I  accepted  an  invitation  from 
Bishop  Hare  to  visit  his  convocation  of  Sioux,  or  Da- 
kota, Indians,  held  at  Corn  Creek,  fifty  miles  north  of 
my  District.  With  the  Bishop  of  Oklahoma  and 
Bishop  Hare  w^e  drove  the  fifty  miles  in  a  wagon  reach- 
ing Corn  Creek  in  time  for  the  sunset  service.  Some 
two  hundred  Indians  and  the  squaws  by  themselves  in 
bright  colored  blankets  gathered  in  a  large  circle  on 
the  open  prairie.  As  the  sun  went  down  a  few  prayers 
were  said  then  Bishop  Brooke  and  myself  addressed 
the  Indians.  Our  speeches  were  interpreted  sentence 
by  sentence.  Bishop  Brooke  told  them  of  the  hot 
climate  in  Oklahoma  and  I  said  I  had  seen  many  of 
them  at  the  railroad  stations  in  my  District.  The  next 
morning  Bishop  Hare  told  us  the  Indians  had  a  long 
Indian  name  for  each  of  us,  my  name  meaning  "  The 
Railroad  Bishop  "  and  Bishop  Brooke's  name  "  The 
Bishop  from  the  Hot  Place."  Sunday  morning  I 
preached  to  the  Indians  under  a  booth  covered  with 
evergreens  brought  from  several  miles  away.  At  the 
sunset  service  Bishop  Brooke  preached  and  that  even- 
ing fifty-one  Indians  were  confirmed  by  Bishop  Hare. 
The  fifty  tepees,  or  Indian  tents,  were  pitched  in  a 
large  semicircle  and  all  made  on  the  open  prairie  a  most 
picturesque  and  beautiful  sight.  The  Indians  had  come 
in  from  a  hundred  miles  east  and  west  and  remained 
about  three  days.     The  business  meetings  of  the  con- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  149 

vocation  were  very  interesting.  The  different  branches 
of  the  Woman's  AuxiHary  had  brought  their  annual 
offerings  in  fancy  buckskin  purses  amounting  to  about 
two  hundred  dollars.  One  hour  after  the  last  service 
the  tepees  had  all  disappeared  and  nothing  but  distant 
clouds  of  dust  on  the  different  roads  told  us  of  our  de- 
parting friends.  At  6:00  P.  M.  we  started  to  drive 
fifty  miles  to  Gordon  to  catch  the  two  o'clock  night 
train.  Fast  driving  brought  us  in  sight  of  Gordon  when 
a  hot  box  and  groaning  wheel  stopped  us  until  we  saw 
our  train  in  the  distance,  the  only  one  in  twenty-four 
hours,  pass  by  without  us. 

Early  in  September  I  camped  for  eight  days  with  the 
old  Minnesota  party  on  an  island  in  the  Mississippi 
River  near  Wabasha,  Minnesota.  We  got  some  fish 
and  less  game,  but  saw  the  big  steamers  with  their 
searchlights  at  night  and  great  rafts  of  logs  pass  by. 

In  October  I  attended  the  General  Convention  in 
Washington,  D.  C.  That  convention  added  the  eastern 
half  of  the  great  state  of  Wyoming  to  my  District  thus 
adding  fifty  thousand  square  miles  and  doubling  my 
territory.  The  name  of  my  District  was  then  changed 
from  *'  The  Platte  "  to  "  Laramie  "  as  there  happened 
to  be  a  cathedral  building  in  Laramie,  Wyoming. 
While  in  the  east  I  visited  a  number  of  my  good  helpers, 
not  to  solicit  funds  at  that  time,  as  gifts  came  from  them 
either  spontaneously  or  in  answer  to  letters,  but  my  ob- 
ject was  to  let  them  see  my  face  and  realize  more  fully 
the  character  of  our  work.     On  my  return  I  finished 


150  The  Farmer  Bo\) 

visiting  the  stations  in  Nebraska.  My  work  that  year 
involved  travel  to  the  extent  of  twenty-five  thousand 
miles. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

I  899. 

/^  N  the  first  day  of  January  I  was  in  the  cathedral  at 
^-^  L.aramie  to  take  charge  of  my  part  of  Wyoming. 
The  cathedral  was  barely  finished.  There  were  no 
furnaces  in  it  and  the  stoves  would  not  bring  the  tem- 
perature above  forty  degrees.  There  were  fifty-five 
people  present  in  furs  and  overcoats  to  welcome  their 
new  bishop.  There  was  a  debt  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars  on  the  cathedral,  the  people  of  Laramie  were 
paying  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year 
toward  the  support  of  their  pastor  and  the  Board  of 
Missions  was  paying  him  as  arch-deacon  five  hundred 
dollars  more.  I  found  twenty-three  thousand  five  hun- 
dred dollars  in  debts  on  all  the  churches  or  rectories 
in  eastern  Wyoming.  In  fact  all  the  churches  except 
two  were  loaded  with  debt  and  the  one  at  Sundance 
was  sold  by  auction  on  the  mortgage.  Some  of  the 
clergy  had  followed  Bishop  Talbot  to  Pennsylvania 
and  altogether  the  outlook  was  dreary  and  discouraging. 
I  presently  succeeded  in  getting  some  good  men  into 
that  part  of  the  District.     The  people  took  hold  with 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  151 

me  and  in  three  years  we  had  every  dollar  of  the  debts 
paid.  Bishop  Talbot  secured  about  eight  thousand 
dollars  on  the  cathedral  debt.  The  rest  was  secured 
by  me  writing  to  friends  in  the  east  and  from  our  own 
people.  In  the  smaller  places  I  offered  to  raise  a  dollar 
and  in  some  cases  two  dollars  for  every  dollar  the 
people  would  raise.  They  all  took  hold  bravely  and 
soon  the  trouble  of  debts  was  over.  To  help  raise  the 
needed  money  I  made  visitations  for  a  month  in  Ohio 
for  Bishop  Leonard  who  gave  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  for  that  work.  The  cold  weather  in  Ohio  was 
down  to  zero  most  of  the  time,  there  were  but  two 
sunny  days  and  I  became  worn  out  and  sick.  The 
first  of  March  I  began  my  own  visitations  and  kept 
steadily  at  them  until  the  middle  of  June,  riding  hun- 
dreds of  miles  in  stages  in  Wyoming.. 

The  middle  of  June,  the  pastor  having  left  the  cathe- 
dral at  Laramie,  I  went  there  myself  and  took  charge 
of  the  work.  I  had  a  deacon  with  me.  Rev.  V/m. 
Toole,  and  we  set  to  work  to  put  things  in  better  shape. 
Mr.  Toole  began  canvassing  the  tov/n  street  by  street 
calling  at  every  house  and  making  a  record  of  what  he 
found.  I  followed  a  few  days  later  calling  at  those 
places  where  we  thought  the  people  or  their  children 
accessible  to  the  church  or  Sunday  school.  I  made  a 
complete  parish  register  of  all  families  and  ages  of  the 
children  who  were  at  all  connected  with  the  parish. 
We  also  made  a  complete  call  book  for  the  succeeding 
Dean  arranged  by  street  and  number.    We  made  many 


152  The  Farmer  Bo}) 

repairs  with  our  own  hands  on  St.  Matthew's  Hall  and 
the  cathedral.  With  the  help  of  the  Ladies'  Guild  we 
secured  two  large  furnaces  and  set  them  in  the  base- 
ment of  the  cathedral.  The  new  Dean,  Rev.  James 
Cope  from  Santa  Rosa,  California,  relieved  us  the 
middle  of  August  and  began  the  great  work  of  building 
up  the  cathedral  congregation  into  a  self-supporting  and 
self-respecting  parish.  This  with  his  helpful  wife  who 
acted  as  organist  and  choir  trainer  he  succeeded  in 
doing  in  the  next  four  years. 

I  sent  Rev.  Mr.  Toole  to  plant  a  string  of  new 
missions  in  the  Little  Snake  Valley.  This  was  an  irri- 
gated valley  seventy  miles  south  of  the  Union  Pacific 
Railroad  along  the  Wyoming  and  Colorado  boundary 
line.  An  Irish  ranchman  there,  Mr.  J.  Cambreth  Kane, 
had  already  started  a  Sunday  school  and  had  done 
some  lay  reading.  A  year  before  this  Bishop  Talbot 
had  sent  a  divinity  student  there  who  became  a  Meth- 
odist thinking  he  would  obtain  a  better  salary.  The 
people  soon  fell  away  from  him  and  the  field  was  left 
to  us.  Mr.  Toole  with  the  help  of  Mr.  Kane  opened 
five  mission  stations  stretching  fifty  miles  along  the 
valley.  Some  of  these  were  in  Colorado.  The  next 
year  Rev.  Alfred  A.  Gilman,  another  deacon,  took  up 
the  work  there  and  was  instrumental  in  building  a 
church  at  Baggs  and  also  a  church  and  log  rectory  at 
Dixon.  For  ten  years  we  held  that  field  without  the 
competition  of  any  other  religious  body.  I  visited  it 
every  summer  spending  two  weeks  confirming  the  candi- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  153 

dates,  visiting  the  ranchmen  in  their  homes  and  fishing 
for  trout  as  well  as  for  men.  Snake  River  was  what 
was  known  in  the  ranching  country  as  the  "  Dead 
Line."  North  of  It  were  the  sheep  ranges  and  south  of 
it  the  cattle  and  horse  ranges.  If  the  sheep  herders 
encroached  on  the  cattle  country  their  sheep  were 
likely  to  be  killed.  One  time  a  band  of  cow-boys 
came  upon  such  a  sheep  herder,  tied  him  to  his  camp 
wagon,  sawed  the  spokes  out  of  the  wheels  and  with 
them  beat  the  brains  out  of  a  hundred  sheep  or  more. 
This  seems  like  cruel  justice,  but  It  was  necessary  as 
the  sheep  spoiled  the  grazing  for  cattle.  Cattle  men 
had  been  ruined  and  driven  out  of  whole  counties  by 
the  sheep.  These  vast  stretches  of  half  desert  country 
belonged  to  the  United  States,  but  were  then  freely  used 
by  the  ranchmen. 

The  latter  part  of  August  and  early  In  September  I 
made  visitations  in  Nebraska.  I  then  joined  the  Minne- 
sota camping  party  for  a  short  vacation.  We  took  our 
boat  by  wagon  thirty-five  miles  from  the  railroad  to 
Lake  Itasca,  the  source  of  the  Mississippi  River.  We 
spent  two  days  exploring  around  the  lake  and  fishing. 
We  followed  up  the  stream  that  comes  into  the  lake  to 
near  the  large  spring  where  it  rises.  There  we  could 
easily  step  across  the  stream.  I  have  sometimes  shocked 
people  by  soberly  asserting  that  when  I  was  younger 
and  more  active  I  had  stepped  across  the  Mississippi 
River  at  a  single  step.  For  two  weeks  we  floated 
and  rowed  down  the  river,  camping  each  night  upon 


154  The  Farmer  Boy 

the  shore.  We  passed  through  four  or  five  lakes 
and  got  plenty  of  fish  and  duck  for  our  table.  In 
October  I  attended  the  Missionary  Council  in  St. 
Louis  and  after  that  made  visitations  over  the  most 
of  my  District.  At  the  end  of  the  year  I  had 
preached  two  hundred  and  seventy-nine  times  and  trav- 
eled about  twenty  thousand  miles. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
1  900. 

ALL  the  spring  I  was  constantly  on  the  road  making 
visitations  until  July  4th.  On  that  day  I  was 
in  Sheridan,  Wyoming,  and  gave  up  the  day  to  the 
national  celebration.  A  hundred  or  more  Crow  Indians 
had  been  invited  down  from  their  reservation  and  prom- 
ised a  feast  if  they  would  take  part  in  the  celebration. 
A  sham  battle  was  planned  between  the  Indians  and 
a  company  of  the  militia  helped  by  a  company  of  reg- 
ular soldiers.  It  was  to  be  a  representation  of  the  battle 
in  which  General  Custer,  not  far  from  Sheridan,  and 
all  his  soldiers  had  been  massacred.  The  Indians  at 
Sheridan  were  camped  in  some  trees  on  a  small  stream. 
We  first  saw  the  company  of  regulars  marching  in  from 
a  mile  away.  As  they  drew  near  a  hill  opposite  the 
town,  out  of  the  grove  came  the  hundred  Indians  on 
their  ponies  in  feathers  and  paint  and  giving  horrible 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  155 

war  whoops.  They  strung  out  in  single  file  and  gal- 
loped in  a  large  circle  around  the  soldiers.  The  firing 
with  blank  cartridges  began  and  one  soldier  after  an- 
other went  down.  Occasionally  an  Indian  warrior  fell 
from  his  horse.  Round  and  round  they  rode  until  all 
the  soldiers  were  down.  Then  out  came  the  squaws 
with  their  scalping  knives  and  went  through  the  form  of 
scalping  the  soldiers.  Later  the  military  company  ap- 
peared on  a  side  hill  behind  a  temporary  fortification. 
Again  the  Indians  came  whooping  out,  but  were  finally 
driven  back  by  the  militia.  These  conflicts  as  seen  from 
a  distance  were  picturesque  and  thrilling. 

The  rest  of  July  and  August  I  worked  with  my  son 
Eliot  fitting  up  St.  Matthew's  Hall,  Laramie,  as  a 
Church  boardmg  home  for  girls  attending  the  state  uni- 
versity located  at  Laramie.  Bishop  Talbot  had  had 
a  school  in  this  building  which  belonged  to  the  Church, 
but  it  was  too  near  the  state  university  to  succeed.  Mrs. 
Eva.  S.  Cochran  of  Yonkers,  New  York,  who  had  orig- 
inally bought  the  buildmg  for  a  school,  now  gave  me 
one  thousand  dollars  to  repair  the  building  and  furnish 
it.  We  ran  this  boarding  home  for  two  years,  but  the 
number  of  girls  attending  the  university  decreased  so 
rapidly  that  we  had  not  enough  boarders  to  keep  the 
hall  running. 

In  September  I  heard  of  a  legacy  of  thirty-six  thou- 
sand dollars,  left  to  our  Kearney  Military  Academy 
by  the  late  Felix  R.  Brunot  of  Allegheny  City,  Penn- 
sylvania.    This  greatly  rejoiced  my  heart.     We  had 


156  The  Farmer  Boy 

had  a  long  hard  straggle  to  keep  that  Church  school 
going  and  now  the  interest  on  this  endowment  would 
sustain  it  in  the  bad  times.  The  new  principal,  Mr. 
Harry  N,  Russell,  took  full  charge  under  me  and  built 
up  the  school  into  a  blessed  success. 

The  following  account  of  a  visit  to  the  mission  sta- 
tions on  the  Little  Snake  River  will  be  of  interest. 

A  TYPICAL  MISSIONARY  TRIP. 

"  On  the  seventh  of  August  the  Rev.  Geo.  A. 
Beecher  and  myself  were  met  at  Rawlins,  my  most 
western  station  on  the  railroad,  by  Mr.  J.  C.  Kane 
from  the  Snake  River  Valley  in  Southern  Wyoming. 
At  noon  we  took  our  dinner  at  a  ranch  house,  the  only 
house  on  the  road  for  fifty  miles.  After  dinner  our 
road  ascended  the  great  divide  of  the  continent.  For 
the  next  twenty  miles  we  drove  along  the  summit  of 
this  divide.  All  the  streams  on  our  right  found  their 
way  into  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  those  on  our  left  into 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  Atlantic.  Our  road  lay 
nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  While  there  were 
higher  peaks  to  the  right  and  left  of  us  they  really  be- 
longed to  the  Pacific  or  Atlantic  slope,  while  we  were 
on  the  very  backbone  of  the  continent.  As  we  grad- 
ually came  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Savory  we 
came  upon  a  covey  of  sage  chickens  and  Mr.  Beecher 
and  I  secured  a  dozen  of  these  with  our  guns  for  our 
larder.  At  night  we  reached  a  sheep  camp  under  the 
management  of  a  Churchman.     He  made  us  comfort- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  157 

able  for  the  night,  giving  me  his  own  bed  in  the  sheep 
wagon. 

The  next  morning  we  gathered  some  more  sage  chick- 
ens and  some  trout  and  then  drove  on  twenty-five  miles 
farther  to  Mr.  Kane's  ranch  on  Snake  River  near 
Dixon.  We  called  at  several  ranches  in  the  valley  noti- 
fying them  of  services  on  Sunday.  The  next  three  days 
I  spent  with  the  missionary.  Rev.  Wm.  Toole,  calling 
on  all  the  people  up  and  down  the  valley  for  a  dozen 
miles.  When  Mr.  Toole  went  to  the  valley  a  year  be- 
fore there  was  but  one  communicant  of  the  Church 
within  fifty  miles  and  that  was  Mr.  Kane  our  licensed 
lay-reader.  There  was  no  other  minister  or  service  of 
any  kind  in  all  that  region.  Methodists,  Campbellltes 
and  all  sorts  attended  our  services  and  responded  heart- 
ily. They  were  very  shy  at  first,  but  have  all  come  to 
respect  and  like  the  faithful  young  missionary.  One 
Sunday  Mr.  Toole  is  at  the  stations  up  the  river  and 
Mr.  Kane  at  those  below  and  the  next  Sunday  he  goes 
down  and  Mr.  Kane  up  the  river.  At  first  no  money 
was  asked,  only  collections  taken,  but  now  nearly  all 
subscribe  liberally.  On  Sunday  I  v/ent  with  Mr.  Toole 
to  Baggs  and  Dixon  v/hile  the  Rev.  Mr.  Beecher  went 
with  Mr.  Kane  to  Battle  Creek  and  Savory.  I  con- 
firmed one  at  Baggs  in  the  morning  and  three  at  Dixon 
in  the  evening.  As  Mr.  Beecher's  service  at  Savory 
was  in  the  afternoon  we  all  came  together  in  the  even- 
ing and  had  a  rousing  service  with  the  school-house 
full  of  people.     After  confirn:ation  we  gave  the  com- 


158  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

munion  to  the  newly  confirmed  who  had  come  several 
miles  to  the  service.  As  the  missionary  was  only  in 
deacon's  orders  this  was  the  first  communion  service 
ever  held  within  seventy  miles  of  the  spot. 

The  next  two  days  we  camped  and  fished  near  the 
mouth  of  Battle  Creek  and  then  drove  to  Clayton's 
sheep-camp  again.  This  was  well  up  in  the  mountains 
so  that  night,  the  fifteenth  of  August,  water  froze  in  the 
sheep  wagon  where  I  slept.  The  next  day  we  drove 
fifty  miles  east  over  the  Sierra  Madre  Mountains  to 
Saratoga  in  the  North  Platte  Valley.  There  I  con- 
firmed a  class  of  four  for  our  venerable  missionary.  Rev. 
Dr.  R.  E.  G.  Huntington,  then  eighty  years  of  age. 
From  there  in  the  stage  and  much  dust  for  thirty  miles 
we  came  to  the  railroad  at  Fort  Steele.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Toole  came  with  us  to  Laramie  where  he  was  advanced 
to  the  priesthood  and  thence  returned  to  his  lonely 
work  for  another  year. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

1901. 

T  N  May  of  this  year  I  made  fourteen  visitations  for 
^  the  Diocese  of  Colorado  as  Bishop  Spalding  had 
died  and  the  diocese  was  vacant.  In  the  summer  I 
made  two  long  trips  with  horse  and  buggy  to  most  of 
the  small  towns  within  a  hundred  miles  of  Kearney 


I 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  159 

looking  up  students  for  our  school.  Under  the  former 
principal  it  had  run  down  very  much.  I  also  spent  two 
or  three  weeks  working  with  my  own  hands  repairing 
the  buildings  of  the  school.  Our  District  Convocation 
was  held  August  eleventh  at  Laramie  and  at  that  time 
the  cathedral  was  consecrated,  the  debt  having  been  all 
paid.  Bishop  Talbot,  formerly  of  Wyoming,  came  out 
and  preached  the  sermon.  After  that  Mr.  Iverson,  of 
Laramie,  took  Bishop  Talbot  and  myself  up  the  La- 
ramie River  where  for  two  days  we  visited  and  fished 
for  trout  together. 

In  September  and  October  Mrs.  Graves  and  myself 
attended  the  General  Convention  in  San  Francisco.  On 
our  way  out  we  visited  Bishop  Brewer  of  Montana, 
Bishop  Wells  at  Spokane,  Dr.  Llwyd  at  Seattle  and 
Bishop  Morris  at  Portland.  It  was  a  great  satisfaction 
to  see  the  work  and  compare  notes  with  these  pioneers 
of  the  farther  west.  At  the  General  Convention  the 
constitution  of  the  Church  was  still  further  revised  and 
five  or  six  missionary  bishops  elected.  We  returned  by 
Southern  California  where  we  again  visited  friend;. 
The  rest  of  the  year  I  was  making  visitations  in  my  ovwi 
District.  To  show  the  character  of  such  visitations  I 
quote  from  my  old  diary: 

"  November  24th,  1901 .  At  Valentine,  Nebraska. 
Address  Sunday  school  A.  M.  and  preach  to  fifty 
people.  Confirm  four  and  address  them.  Collections 
for  our  missions  in  the  District,  three  dollars  and  sixty 
cents.     Preach  again  in  the  evening  to  twenty-five. 


160  The  Farmer  Boy 

*'  November  25th.  A.  M.  Make  calls  in  Valen- 
tine and  see  about  exchanging  Church  lots  in  Cody. 
P.  M.  On  to  Wood  Lake.  Preach  to  fifty  in  the 
school-house  and  confirm  two.  Collection,  one  dollar 
and  forty-five  cents. 

"  November  26th.  To  Johnstown.  Write  ten 
letters  A.  M.  Call  all  around  with  Mr.  Bates.  P.  M. 
Evening  preach  in  the  Methodist  Church,  confirm 
three  and  address  them.     Collection  two  dollars. 

"  November  27th.  Train  to  Ainsworth.  Write 
ten  letters  A.  M.  Make  calls  P.  M.  Preach  to 
fifty  in  the  Congregational  church  in  the  evening.  Col- 
lection four  dollars  and  three  cents.  Gift  from  Ladies' 
Guild  for  our  missions,  five  dollars. 

"  November  28th.  Thanksgiving  Day.  In  Bas- 
sett.  Service  A.  M.  in  the  school-house.  Preach  on 
thanksgiving  and  confirmation  to  forty  people.  Confirm 
nine  and  address  them.  Collection,  six  dollars  and 
twelve  cents.  P.  M.  Watch  a  shooting  match  and 
make  many  calls.  Write  up  my  register  of  families 
in  Mr.  Bates'  stations. 

"  November  29th.  To  Atkinson  making  calls 
there  all  day.  Evening  service  in  Methodist  church. 
Sixty  present.  Preach,  confirm  one  and  administer 
communion  to  five.  Collection  two  dollars  and  seventy- 
five  cents. 

"  November  30th.  A.  M.  Confirm  one  in  private  at 
Atkinson  and  then  take  train  to  Ewing.  Make  calls 
all  P.  M.     Evening  preach  in  our  chapel  to  fifty  and 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  161 

confirm  one.  Collection,  five  dollars  and  fifty-two 
cents. 

"  Sunday,  December  1  st.  At  O'Neill.  Preach  morn- 
ing and  evening,  confirm  two  and  address  them.  Col- 
lection, four  dollars  and  forty-five  cents.  Call  all 
around  P.  M. 

"  December  2nd.  To  Inman.  Write  eleven  letters 
A.  M.  Calls  P.  M.  Evening  preach  in  Methodist 
church  to  forty-five.     Collection,  eighty-six  cents. 

"  December  3rd.  On  train  all  day  and  evening  get- 
ting home." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

1  902. 

T  MADE  a  few  visitations  early  in  January,  but 
'  was  sick  with  nervous  dyspepsia.  On  January 
fifteenth  I  started  out  for  rest  and  change.  I  first 
visited  my  life-long  friend,  Philip  Potter,  in  Omaha. 
He  and  his  good  wife  put  me  to  bed  for  a  week  and 
entertained  me  for  several  days  after.  Feeling  the 
need  of  out-of-door  life  and  exercise  I  started  for  the 
south,  visiting  some  friends  in  Missouri  and  Arkansas 
on  the  way.  I  finally  stopped  at  De  Queen  in  south- 
western Arkansas  with  a  truck  gardener.  For  two 
weeks  I  hunted  rabbits,  ducks  and  quails  every  day 
and  rested.      I   gained  strength   and  appetite  rapidly 


162  The  Farmer  Boy 

though  the  weather  was  dark  and  damp  which  brought 
on  the  asthma  at  night.  I  returned  the  latter  part  of 
February  and  kept  steadily  at  my  visitations  until  July. 
The  middle  of  May  I  took  a  flying  trip  to  Cincinnati  to 
attend  a  meeting  of  the  House  of  Bishops  at  which  we 
elected  bishops  for  Salina,  Honolulu  and  Porto  Rico. 
In  June  I  visited  the  missions  in  Southern  Wyoming 
and  drove  with  the  missionaries  five  hundred  miles 
across  deserts  and  over  mountains.  We  held  some 
services  in  northern  Colorado  in  places  almost  inaccess- 
ible from  Denver.  On  these  journeys  I  had  to  carry 
a  jug  of  pure  water  as  the  alkali  water  from  the  ranch- 
men's wells  always  made  me  ill. 

After  our  annual  convocation  was  over,  early  in  Sep- 
tember, I  joined  the  Minnesota  party,  to  which  Rev. 
Irving  P.  Johnson  was  now  added,  in  a  camp  on  Black 
Lake  and  Three  Island  Lake  in  northern  Minnesota, 
for  nearly  three  weeks.  While  camping  here  we  ex- 
plored an  Island  in  Big  Turtle  Lake  which  we  and 
others  afterwards  bought  for  a  permanent  camping 
place.  We  named  the  island  Mekenock  which  is  the 
Indian  word  for  Turtle  Island.  Later  on  cottages  were 
built  there  by  members  of  the  company  and  it  became  a 
regular  summer  and  autumn  camping  ground.  On  my 
way  home  I  visited  many  friends  in  my  old  parish  of 
Gethsemane,  Minneapolis.  The  remainder  of  the  year 
was  given  to  visitations  in  my  large  District. 

In  my  visitations  I  always  tried  to  adapt  myself  to 
the  people  and  conditions  I  found.     To  illustrate  this 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  163 

I  relate  the  following  Incident.  A  Church  woman  in 
Atkinson  had  several  times  declined  to  entertain  me 
because  she  felt  she  could  not  do  it  as  she  thought  a 
bishop  should  be  entertained.  At  last  she  was  per- 
suaded to  try  it.  After  it  was  over  the  lady  who  per- 
suaded her  to  try  it  asked  her  how  she  got  along  with 
the  Bishop?  She  answered,  "  Oh,  fine  in  every  way. 
Why  the  Bishop  is  as  common  as  an  old  shoe."  She 
may  not  thought  of  it  as  a  compliment,  but  I  consider 
it  the  highest  one  she  could  have  paid  me.  She  was 
certainly  pleased  with  my  visit  and  was  anxious  to 
have  me  again.  Speaking  of  compliments  I  rarely 
received  them  on  my  preaching  for  some  reason.  There 
were  two  I  remember  and  highly  prize.  One  was  from 
a  boy  eleven  years  old.  He  told  a  friend  that  he  could 
understand  every  word  in  Mr.  Graves'  sermon.  The 
other  was  from  an  able  clergyman  eighty  years  old  for 
whom  I  had  preached  many  times.  He  said,  "  I  have 
never  heard  you  preach  an  ordinaire  sermon."  I  do  not 
think  my  sermons  were  such  as  would  call  forth  flatter- 
ing remarks,  but  I  am  assured  that  they  have  set  many 
people  thinking  seriously  and  deeply. 

During  1902  our  Church  school  made  great  prog- 
ress so  that  for  the  first  time  we  had  a  surplus  over 
expenses  to  use  in  making  improvements.  The  building 
up  of  this  school  had  been  a  long,  hard  struggle  with 
much  anxiety  and  toil. 


164  The  Farmer  Boy 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

1  903. 

C  ARLY  in  January  I  took  my  wife  and  oldest 
^  daughter  to  Gainesville,  Florida,  where  we  re- 
mained six  weeks  to  escape  the  intense  cold  of  the  win- 
ter. On  the  first  of  March  I  started  out  on  my  visita- 
tions, but  before  reaching  the  first  mission  our  train 
was  wedged  into  a  snow  bank  and  could  move  neither 
way.  I  joined  a  squad  of  passengers  and  trainmen 
with  shovels  to  dig  ourselves  loose,  but  without  success. 
We  had  to  wait  about  eight  hours  before  the  snow  plow 
on  another  engine  came  to  release  us.  We  found  a 
large  basket  of  bread  and  a  can  of  cream  in  the  express 
car  and  appeased  our  hunger.  I  missed  my  appoint- 
ment that  night,  something  which  has  not  happened 
once  a  year  in  all  my  episcopate.  In  every  case,  the 
cause  was  being  snowed  up  on  the  train  or  a  break- 
down of  the  locomotive. 

I  was  busy  with  visitations  until  the  middle  of  July. 
I  then  prepared  my  annual  address  to  our  convoca- 
tion and  fourteenth  annual  report  to  the  Board  of 
Missions.  I  insert  here  an  account  of  a  missionary 
trip  among  the  Rocky  Mountains,  which  may  be  of 
interest : 

"  On  the  twenty-fourth  of  June,  the  Bishop  with 
his  son,  just  graduated  from  Theological  Seminary, 
were  met  by  Dean  Cope  at  Laramie.     With  his  own 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  165 

team  the  Dean  drove  us  up  the  Laramie  River  twenty 
miles,  then  cHmbing  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  drove  us 
twenty  miles  more  along  the  summit  of  the  Medicine 
Bow  Range.  At  sunset  we  came  to  a  road  ranch  kept 
by  a  Frenchman  where  we  spent  the  night.  The  next 
morning  we  descended  into  the  valley  of  the  North 
Platte  River,  called  the  North  Park  of  Colorado.  At 
noon  we  dined  on  crackers  and  caught  a  few  trout  in 
the  Platte.  All  the  afternoon  we  drove  west  across 
the  Park.  Toward  evening  we  passed  through  the 
mining  camp  of  Pearl,  Colorado.  We  then  turned 
north  and  climbed  over  a  spur  of  the  Rockies.  Not 
reaching  a  ranch  house,  as  we  had  hoped,  we  decided 
to  camp  on  the  mountain  by  Big  Creek.  Before  dark 
we  had  caught  a  nice  string  of  mountain  trout.  We 
had  brought  no  blankets  and  were  not  prepared  for 
camping,  but  were  prepared  as  always  to  make  the 
best  of  the  situation.  The  seats  were  taken  out  and  the 
curtains  of  the  mountain  wagon  were  put  up.  The 
bed  of  the  wagon  was  filled  with  pine  boughs  and  a  bag 
of  grain  made  a  pillow  for  the  Bishop  and  his  son. 
The  Dean  put  the  seat  cushion  under  the  wagon  for  a 
bed  and  took  the  only  overcoat  in  the  party  for  a  cover- 
ing. The  Bishop  and  his  son  were  soon  asleep,  but  the 
Dean  spent  the  most  of  the  night  nursing  the  fire  made 
of  such  sticks  as  he  could  break  with  his  hands  from 
the  willows  and  sage  brush.  The  frost  was  heavy  all 
around  us  and  the  water  pail  was  frozen  over.  Still 
we  all  enjoyed  our  breakfast  of  graham  crackers  and 
trout  fried  on  a  piece  of  tin  from  an  old  can. 

"  Soon  after  sunrise  we  were  on  our  way  again, 
climbing  another  spur  of  the  Rockies.  At  noon  we 
stopped  at  a  stream  for  lunch,  where  the  Bishop  caught 


166  The  Farmer  Bo\) 

a  few  more  trout.  In  tlic  afternoon  we  passed  by  the 
mining  camp  of  Grand  Encampment  and  that  night  we 
stayed  at  Cocheron's  ranch  on  Cow  Creek,  where  we 
were  entertained  royally. 

"  The  next  morning  we  baptized  a  grandchild  of  Mr. 
Cocheron  and  reached  Saratoga  by  noon.  In  the 
afternoon  the  Bishop  made  calls  with  Rev.  Dr.  Hunt-> 
ington  on  all  his  parishioners. 

"  The  next  day,  Sunday,  we  held  services  in  Sara- 
toga and  collected  six  dollars  and  thirty-five  cents  for 
our  mission  work.  Here  Rev.  Mr.  Toole,  the  mission- 
ary from  the  Snake  River  country  seventy  miles  away, 
met  the  Bishop  with  his  team.  After  resting  over 
Monday,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Toole,  the  Bishop  and  his  son 
started  on  their  long  drive  over  the  continental  divide. 
Lunching  by  the  roadside,  we  reached  the  httle  hamlet 
of  Battle  Lake,  ten  thousand  feet  above  sea  level. 
There  we  picked  up  copper  ore  on  the  very  summit  of 
the  mountain  and  walked  over  acres  of  snow,  some  of 
it  twenty  feet  deep. 

"  The  next  morning  we  jolted  over  nine  miles  of  the 
rockiest  road  in  the  country,  then  ever  down  into  the 
valley  of  the  Little  Snake  to  Dixon.  There  for  several 
days  we  rested  and  made  calls  on  the  neighboring  ranch- 
men. The  Glorious  Fourth  of  July  we  spent  in  the  little 
village  of  Baggs,  watching  the  races,  the  contests  in 
riding  bucking  bronchos  and  other  sports  peculiar  to  the 
far  west.  Our  Church  ladies  at  Baggs  cleared  one 
hundred  and  forty  dollars  that  day  serving  refreshments 
to  the  celebrators. 

"  On  Sunday  morning  we  were  in  Dixon  for  Sunday 
school,  the  Bishop  teaching  a  class.  In  the  afternoon, 
at    the    Savoy    school-house,    five    miles    away,    we 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  167 

preached  to  sixty  people.  In  the  evening  at  Dixon 
again  we  had  a  congregation  of  sixty  and  confirmed  a 
class  of  six,  mostly  adults. 

"  During  the  week  following  we  visited  the  ranch- 
men for  thirty  miles  up  and  down  the  valley  and  two 
or  three  times  filled  our  ten-pound  basket  with  trout. 

"  On  the  next  Sunday  v/e  held  morning  service 
in  the  little  school-house  at  Battle  Creek,  into  which 
twenty-eight  people  \v'cre  crowded.  In  the  afternoon 
we  drove  twenty-eight  miles  down  the  valley  to  Baggs. 
There  we  held  the  opening  service  in  the  new  brick 
church,  without  windows  or  pews,  preached  to  ninety 
people  and  confirmed  a  class  of  two  presented  by  Rev. 
A.  A.  Gilman.  No  Christian  services  of  any  sort  ex- 
cept our  own  are  held  in  this  valley  or  within  seventy 
miles  of  it, 

"  After  a  day's  rest  at  Dixon,  we  took  the  stage 
seventy  miles  to  Rawlins  and  toward  evening  heard  the 
whistle  of  the  locomotive  once  more.  We  had  driven 
nearly  four  hundred  miles  since  leaving  the  railroad." 

My  vacation  came  in  September,  when  I  camped 
with  the  old  Minnesota  friends  in  the  woods  twenty 
miles  north  of  Duluth,  Minnesota.  In  addition  to  the 
many  ducks  for  our  larder,  we  shot  a  young  deer  and 
secured  some  moose  meat  from  a  logging  camp. 

The  middle  of  October  I  attended  an  "  All  America 
Conference  of  Bishops,"  held  in  Washington,  District 
of  Columbia.  Bishops  from  Canada,  the  West  Indies 
and  from  all  over  the  United  States  were  present. 
Some  important  matters  were  considered,  such  as  the 
attitude  of  our  Church  toward  Protestant  Communions, 


168  The  Farmer  Boy 

Methods  of  Work  with  Negroes  and  Indians,  the 
Proper  Method  of  Transferring  Clergymen  from 
Canada  to  the  United  States  and  other  matters  of 
general  interest.  This  meeting  was  followed  by  the 
annual  Missionary  Council.  While  east,  I  visited  some 
of  our  friends  and  helpers  in  Philadelphia,  New  York 
and  Connecticut.  The  balance  of  the  year  I  was  busy 
making  visitations  in  my  District.  For  the  first  fifteen 
years  of  my  episcopate  I  was  at  home  only  about  one- 
fifth  of  the  time. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
1  904. 

THE  middle  of  January  I  was  in  Kansas  City,  at- 
tending the  first  conference  of  the  Sixth  Mission- 
ary Department.  From  there  I  visited  Bishop  Mills- 
paugh  and  his  Church  institutions  at  Topeka,  Kansas. 
To  break  the  cold  winter,  I  went  on  to  a  truck  ranch, 
near  El  Paso,  Texas,  staying  with  a  Church  family 
there,  hunting  quails  and  rabbits  for  three  weeks,  and 
began  writing  this  autobiography.  By  the  twentieth  of 
February  I  was  at  my  regular  visitations,  which  kept 
me  busy  until  the  first  of  August.  In  July,  Rev.  C.  H. 
Plummer,  of  Lake  City,  Minnesota,  came  to  me  and 
together  v/e  visited  the  Snake  River  Missions  in  South- 
ern Wyoming.  Between  Sundays  we  camped  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  caught  and  ate  many  mountain  trout. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  169 

On  the  seventh  of  August  I  ordained  my  oldest  son, 
Frederick,  to  the  priesthood.  On  the  twenty-fourth  of 
the  same  month  I  baptized  my  first  grandchild,  son  of 
my  second  son,  Ehot.  In  September  I  was  camping 
for  a  short  time  in  Minnesota  and  in  October  attended 
the  General  Convention  in  Boston.  In  this  convention 
missionary  bishops  were  elected  for  Hankow,  Cuba, 
Salt  Lake  and  Mexico.  The  following  extract  from 
my  report  to  the  Board  of  Missions  will  give  some  idea 
of  how  the  work  of  our  District  was  coming  on : 

"  The  past  year  has  been  a  prosperous  one  for  our 
missionary  work  on  the  frontier.  The  winter  and  early 
spring  had  fewer  storms  than  the  previous  year  and  in 
consequence  our  services  have  been  more  regular  and 
congregations  better.  The  number  of  confirmations  and 
other  spiritual  fruits  seem  much  more  abundant.  There 
were  fewer  changes  in  our  staff  of  clergy,  and  those 
not  until  near  the  end  of  the  fiscal  year. 

"  CHURCH  PROPERTY. 

"  The  property  of  the  Church  in  this  District  has  in- 
creased in  many  ways.  At  Gering,  Nebraska,  lots 
have  been  secured  and  a  chapel  is  being  built.  At 
Merriman  money  is  in  sight  to  build  a  chapel.  At 
Bassett  and  Stratton  we  have  secured  lots  for  chapels. 
At  Cheyenne,  Chadron  and  Buffalo  funds  are  accumu- 
lating for  parish  houses.  At  Baggs  windows  and  pews 
have  been  put  in  and  the  church  plastered  so  it  is  in 
constant  use.  At  Sidney  the  side  wall  and  roof  of  the 
church  have  been  extended  to  make  more  room  for 


1  70  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

the  choir  and  a  furnace  put  under  the  church.  The 
church  at  RawHns  has  been  presented  with  a  new  pipe 
organ.  The  repairs  on  the  church  at  Sundance  have 
been  completed  and  also  on  the  chapel  at  O'Neill. 
About  fifteen  hundred  dollars  have  been  put  into  im- 
provements on  the  Kearney  Military  Academy  and,  as 
usual,  without  debt.  The  rectory  at  New  Castle  is 
nearly  completed  and  will  soon  be  occupied  by  the 
Missionary.  At  Broken  Bow  the  rectory  has  been  en- 
larged and  improved.  At  Valentine  a  fine  lot  for  a 
rectory  has  been  promised  and  a  good  subscription 
made  toward  the  building.  At  Alliance  and  Lexing- 
ton the  debts  on  the  rectories  have  been  fully  paid.  At 
Sheridan  and  Arapahoe  the  small  debts  on  the  rectories 
have  been  materially  reduced. 

*'  STATISTICS. 

*'  Church  families  in  the  District,  one  thousand  four 
hundred  and  ten;  whole  number  of  baptized  persons, 
four  thousand  three  hundred  and  fifty-nine;  whole  num- 
ber of  confirmed  persons,  two  thousand  three  hundred 
and  ninety-five;  number  receiving  communion  in  last 
year,  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty-eight;  bap- 
tisms during  the  year,  adults  ninety-three,  children  two 
hundred  and  eighty-two,  total  three  hundred  and  fif- 
teen; confirmations  in  the  year,  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
four;  marriages,  ninety-four;  burials,  two  hundred  and 
ninety-nine;  Sunday  schools,  thirty-two;  teachers  and 
officers,  two  hundred  and  four;  pupils,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  forty-nine. 

"  OFFICIAL  ACTS. 

'*  In  the  last  year  I  have  taken  part  in  one  hundred 
and   sixty-two   services;    delivered    one   hundred    and 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  I  7 1 

ninety-four  sermons  or  addresses;  administered  com- 
munion thirty-three  times;  baptized  thirteen  persons; 
confirmed  in  the  District  two  hundred  and  sixty-four; 
married  one  couple;  buried  one  person;  Hcensed 
twenty-six  lay-readers;  ordered  one  deacon;  ordained 
one  priest;  received  one  priest  into  the  Jurisdiction; 
gave  letters  dismissory  to  four  clergymen. 

"  OUR  CHURCH  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS. 

"  The  Platte  Collegiate  Institute,  or  Kearney  Mil- 
itary Academy,  has  had  a  most  interesting  and  useful 
year.  Over  eighty  students  were  enrolled  with  an 
average  attendance  of  about  seventy.  The  low  price 
of  two  hundred  and  ten  dollars  a  year  has  brought 
us  many  boys  from  the  farms,  ranches  and  small  vil- 
lages, who  could  not  attend  our  higher-priced  Church 
schools  farther  east.  We  are  confident  in  saying  that 
such  boys  are  not  only  better  boys  in  school,  but  that 
they  give  better  promise  of  a  career  of  usefulness  here- 
after than  the  sons  of  wealthy  people.  Many  of  the 
pupils  are  communicants  of  the  Church,  a  number  are 
confirmed  every  year  and  most  of  the  younger  ones 
will  be  in  due  time.  Still  a  majority  of  them  were  not 
attached  to  our  Church  on  entering  the  school.'* 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

1905. 

nPHE  middle  of  January,  the  Missionary  Confer- 

*■        ence    of    our    Department,    the    Sixth,    met    in 

Omaha,  at  which  we  had  some  interesting  and  spicy 


172  The  Farmer  Boy 

discussions.  My  visitations  went  steadily  on  through 
the  spring.  The  following  will  illustrate  some  of  our 
trips  off  the  railroad: 

On  Sunday  morning.  May  7th,  I  began  the  visita- 
tion of  Rev.  P.  B.  Peabody's  field,  that  being  the  two 
large  counties  of  Crook  and  Weston  in  the  northeast 
corner  of  Wyoming.  We  had  communion  service  in 
the  neat  wooden  church  at  New  Castle  Sunday  morn- 
ing. This  church,  with  the  rectory  beside  it,  stands  on 
a  hill  overlooking  the  town  and  the  vast  plains  stretch- 
ing west  a  hundred  miles  to  the  foot  of  the  Big  Horn 
Mountains.  Immediately  on  the  east  of  New  Castle 
are  the  Black  Hills,  extending  into  South  Dakota. 
The  little  board  shack,  twelve  by  fourteen  feet,  in 
which  the  bachelor  missionaries  used  to  live,  is  now  re- 
placed by  a  comfortable  rectory  occupied  by  the  mis- 
sionary's family. 

After  dinner  at  the  hospitable  home  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Baird,  Mr.  Peabody  came  with  his  horse  and 
buggy  to  take  me  to  the  mission  at  Cambria,  nine  miles 
away.  Our  road  lay  up  through  a  deep  gorge,  down 
which  comes  a  small  stream  and  the  railroad  leading 
from  the  coal  mines.  Arrived  in  Cambria,  which  is  en- 
tirely a  coal  camp  In  the  narrow  gorge,  v/e  called  on 
those  families  interested  in  the  Church.  At  evening 
the  little  church  was  filled  and  four  young  people  were 
presented  for  confirmation.  We  were  hospitably  enter- 
tained by  the  people  over  night. 

The  next  morning  the  missionary  was  ready  with  his 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1  73 

buggy  and  we  drove  on  up  the  gorge  and  over  a  high 
divide  in  the  Black  Hills.  From  there  we  descended 
what  is  aptly  termed  Break-Neck  Hill,  The  last  time 
I  was  on  this  steep,  narrow  road,  a  great  boulder  had 
rolled  down  into  the  middle  of  the  way,  and  it  was  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  we  got  our  buggy  over  and 
past  the  obstruction.  On  we  drove  many  miles  to  a 
lonely  ranch  nestled  in  the  edge  of  the  hills.  Here  we 
stopped  for  dinner  and  found  refined.  Church  people, 
who  most  heartily  welcomed  us  to  their  home.  Again 
we  drove  on  northward  over  the  undulating  plains  until 
twenty  miles  from  our  starting  point  we  came  to  a 
store  and  not  far  away  a  white  school-house  in  a  grove 
of  pines.  This  place  was  called  Horton.  Two  miles 
farther  on  we  came  to  the  home  of  Mr.  Cleave,  where 
we  were  to  stay  for  the  night. 

After  supper  neighboring  people  joined  us  to  drive 
back  to  the  school-house  for  service.  It  soon  began  to 
rain  and  blow  and  became  very  dark.  The  school- 
house  was  reached  and  the  horses  tied  under  the  shelter 
of  the  pines.  A  wood  pile  of  pine  chunks  was  found, 
from  which  we  broke  splinters  and  started  a  fire,  for 
it  was  wet  and  chilly.  Then  we  tried  to  light  the 
lamps,  but  found  that  they  had  neither  chimney  nor  oil. 
One  of  the  party  was  sent  to  the  nearest  house  to  bor- 
row a  lamp  or  lantern,  but  he  found  the  house  locked 
up  and  the  people  away.  There  were  nine  of  us, 
counting  the  clergy,  and  we  determined  to  have  the 
service.    The  missionary  felt  his  way  through  the  dark- 


1  74  The  Farmer  Bo]) 

ness  to  the  cottage  organ  and  announced  a  familiar 
hymn,  which  we  sang  from  memory.  Then  followed 
the  Lord's  prayer  and  the  twenty-third  psalm,  which 
we  repeated  in  unison.  I  lighted  a  pine  splinter  at 
the  stove  and  held  it  while  Mr.  Peabody  read  the  Gos- 
pel for  a  lesson.  After  the  creed  and  evening  prayers, 
said  from  memory  in  the  dark,  followed  another  hymn. 
Then  came  the  sermon,  while  an  occasional  flash  of 
lightning  revealed  to  my  invisible  hearers  that  I  was 
making  the  appropriate  gestures.  For  a  collection, 
each  one  handed  me  his  offering  in  the  dark,  and  we 
closed  with  another  hymn. 

The  next  day  we  drove  on  twenty-five  miles  to  Sun- 
dance, the  county  seat  of  Crook  County.  Here  we 
have  a  church,  which  cost  sixteen  hundred  dollars.  It 
was  lost  on  the  mortgage  being  sold  at  auction  to 
Romanists  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  and 
finally  rescued  from  them  by  our  people.  At  six 
o'clock  that  evening  we  had  a  wedding  and  after  that 
service  in  the  church.  The  next  day  I  took  the  stage 
forty  miles  to  Moorcroft  and  Mr.  Peabody  returned 
as  he  came. 

The  spring  visitations  having  all  been  made,  on  the 
Fourth  of  July  my  two  younger  sons,  David  and  Paul, 
Rev.  J.  L.  Craig  and  wife  and  several  others  started 
from  Casper,  Wyoming,  for  a  long  camping  drive  four 
hundred  miles  through  the  Big  Horn  Basin  to  the  Yel- 
lowstone Park.  We  visited  the  famous  Hot  Springs  at 
Thermopolis,  spending  Sunday  there  and  giving  them 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  I  73 

a  service.  We  had  a  large  baggage  wagon  drawn  by 
four  horses  and  a  spring  wagon  with  two  horses.  Five 
of  the  party  were  on  horseback.  We  made  about  thirty 
miles  a  day,  camping  at  night  by  some  stream.  We 
carried  water  in  kegs,  as  many  of  the  streams  were  so 
strong  with  alkali  that  even  the  horses  would  not  drink 
from  them.  We  passed  by  post  offices  once  in  thirty 
or  forty  miles,  but  no  villages  until  we  reached  Cody, 
two  hundred  miles  from  Casper.  Up  to  that  point  the 
roads  had  been  very  rough,  cut  up  by  the  heavy  wagons 
hauling  wool  to  the  railroad  at  Casper.  There  would 
be  four  or  five  wagons,  heavily  loaded,  fastened  to- 
gether and  in  front  of  them  ten  or  twelve  spans  of  horses 
with  one  or  two  drivers. 

After  passing  Cody  we  found  the  United  States 
Government  road  very  fine  to  the  Park.  While  camp- 
ing over  Sunday  by  the  Shoshone  River  one  hundred 
miles  from  the  Park,  I  was  taken  with  an  intense  agony 
in  the  stomach  and  for  ten  hours  had  to  fairly  gasp  for 
breath.  There  was  no  physician  or  hotel  within  a 
hundred  miles.  After  waiting  for  me  two  days,  they 
placed  me  on  an  air  bed  in  the  bottom  of  the  spring 
wagon  and  moved  on  about  fifteen  miles  a  day.  We 
at  last  came  to  the  edge  of  the  Park  and  a  large  hotel, 
but  the  doctor  who  happened  to  be  there  had  no  medi- 
cines. After  viewing  the  falls  and  canon  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone River,  we  moved  on  through  the  Park,  by 
the  Mud  Springs  and  the  Norris  Geyser  Basin  to  Mam- 
moth Hot  Springs.    There  we  found  an  army  surgeon. 


1  76  The  Farmer  Boy 

who  came  to  my  relief.  I  was  placed  in  the  hotel, 
under  the  kind  care  and  hospitality  of  Bishop  Nichols 
of  California,  who  was  spending  his  vacation  there. 
The  rest  of  the  party  went  on  through  the  south  part 
of  the  Park,  by  the  great  geysers,  Jackson's  Hole,  the 
Wind  River  and  Lander  back  to  Casper.  After  two 
weeks  at  the  hotel,  during  which  I  gained  very  slowly, 
I  started  for  home  by  the  stage  and  train.  I  was  very 
sick  all  the  way.  I  had  to  change  cars  and  wait  at 
Grand  Island,  forty  miles  from  my  home.  I  managed 
to  get  to  the  house  of  my  good  friend.  Dr.  H.  D.  Boy- 
den,  who  put  me  to  bed  in  his  house  and  telephoned  to 
my  daughter,  Gertrude,  to  come.  Under  his  skillful 
treatment  I  gained  rapidly  and  was  able  to  get  home  in 
a  week.  Since  that  breakdown,  I  have  never  been  as 
strong  and  have  had  to  take  the  greatest  care  of  my 
health  and  diet.  Still,  with  the  illness  which  came 
then  in  my  vacation  and  since  up  to  1911,  I  have  never 
lost  a  single  appointment  as  bishop  on  account  of  sick- 
ness. In  fact,  f  have  lost  only  three  Sunday  services 
on  account  of  sickness  in  a  ministry  of  over  forty  years. 
While  this  strenuous  camping  trip  did  help  to  break 
me  down,  I  believe  the  many  other  camps  and  out-of- 
door  life  have  helped  greatly  to  maintain  my  health  and 
strength  through  a  long  and  arduous  ministry. 

After  this  illness,  I  regained  my  strength  slowly,  but 
was  able  to  make  my  fall  visitations.  I  thought  it  best 
to  spend  the  following  winter  in  the  south,  as  the  cold 
weather  was  a  strain  on  my  nervous  system.    Accord- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1  77 

ingly,  early  iin  December,  with  my  wife  and  daughters 
we  settled  in  Bradentown,  Florida.  For  three  months 
I  had  charge  of  the  mission  there  under  Bishop  Gray. 
I  prepared  a  class  for  confirmation,  confirmed  them  and 
made  many  good  friends. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

1906. 

T  N  February  of  this  year  I  made  an  interesting  trip 
*  from  Bardentown  to  Fort  Myers,  then  up  the  Ca- 
loosahatchee  River  to  and  across  Lake  Okeechobee  on 
a  small  steamer.  For  the  first  fifteen  miles  the  banks 
were  low  and  marshy.  Then  for  many  miles  the  banks 
were  high  and  orange  groves  were  on  either  side.  As 
I  stood  on  the  front  deck  with  my  rifle  the  Captain 
called  my  attention  to  a  good-sized  alligator  sleeping 
on  the  bank.  I  aimed  at  his  eye  and  fired.  The  bullet 
struck  him  just  below  the  eye  and  passed  through  his 
brain  to  the  skin  on  the  other  side  of  his  head.  We 
lassoed  him  with  a  rope  and  drew  him  on  board.  He 
was  as  dead  as  a  bullet  could  make  him,  but  for  six  or 
eight  hours  he  would  squirm  when  touched,  I  saved 
his  skin  as  a  trophy. 

At  some  distance  from  the  river  we  could  see  camps 
of  the  Seminole  Indians.  The  upper  part  of  the  river 
was  marshy  and  passed  through  shallow  lakes  until  we 


1  78  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

came  to  the  big  lake.  OfF  to  the  south  of  the  lake  the 
everglades  extended  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  and 
much  farther.  We  crossed  Lake  Okeechobee  and 
ascended  a  crooked  river  for  six  miles,  where  there  was 
a  store  and  a  small  settlement.  On  our  return  we 
secured  a  supply  of  fish  from  fishermen  on  the  lake. 
During  this  winter  I  wrote  the  earlier  portion  of  these 
memoirs.  The  latter  part  of  March  I  returned  to  my 
own  District  and  to  my  spring  visitations. 

During  the  summer  I  had  another  interesting  trip  to 
the  missions  of  the  Snake  River  country  in  southern 
Wyoming.  After  a  whole  day  and  night  on  the  train 
from  my  home  at  Kearney,  Nebraska,  I  met,  at  Raw- 
lins, Wyoming,  July  1 2,  1 906,  Rev.  W.  H.  Frost,  our 
missionary  at  Alliance.  We  were  out  for  a  mission- 
ary trip  and  a  vacation  combined.  The  next  day  we 
rode  in  the  stage  seventy  miles  across  the  desert  to  the 
village  of  Baggs  on  the  Little  Snake  River.  After 
eating  supper  there  and  making  five  calls  on  our  peo- 
ple with  the  missionary.  Rev.  V/m.  Toole,  he  drove  us 
eight  miles  farther  to  Kane's  Ranch,  where  we  were 
entertained  and  rested  the  next  day.  The  fifteenth 
being  Sunday,  Mr.  Toole  drove  Mr.  Frost  six  miles 
up  the  river  to  Savory  school-house,  where  they  had  a 
fine  service,  Mr.  Frost  preaching  the  sermon.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Kane  drove  me  eight  miles  down  the  river 
to  Baggs,  where  we  had  ninety  people  crowded  into 
our  little  brick  chapel.  I  preached  and  nine  received 
the  communion.    On  Monday  Mr.  Frost,  who  was  an 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1  79 

enthusiastic  fisherman,  and  myself  drove  fifteen  miles 
up  the  river  to  Slater  in  the  edge  of  Colorado.  The 
water  was  too  high  for  good  fishing,  so  we  got  only 
five  trout.  While  fishing  I  looked  up  the  river  just  in 
time  to  see  Mr.  Frost  swept  from  the  rapids  by  the  swift 
current  into  a  deep  hole.  For  some  time  nothing  but 
the  top  of  his  hat  and  fish  pole  were  seen  above  the 
water.  I  was  greatly  frightened  and  ran  with  all  my 
might  to  his  rescue.  When  I  tore  through  the  bushes  to 
the  bank,  he  was  coming  up  slowly  out  of  the  water, 
his  rod  still  in  one  hand  and  the  stub  of  a  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  I  asked  him  if  his  cigar  had  gone  out,  where- 
upon we  both  had  a  good  laugh.  He  caught  a  bad 
cold  from  this  dipping,  so  he  was  not  well  all  the  rest 
of  the  trip. 

The  next  day  I  drove  with  Mr.  Toole  twenty  miles 
up  Savory  Creek  and  called  on  the  families  of  eight 
ranchmen.  On  Wednesday  Mr.  Frost  and  myself 
were  driven  eighteen  miles  up  the  river  and  pitched 
our  tent  under  Battle  Mountain.  There  we  camped 
and  fished  the  rest  of  the  week,  getting  from  twelve  to 
twenty-five  trout  each  evening,  thus  supplying  the 
neighbors  and  ourselves  with  plenty  of  fish. 

On  Sunday,  the  twenty-second,  Mr.  Kane  drove 
Mr.  Frost  to  Baggs  for  service,  while  Mr.  Toole  and 
myself  held  service  in  the  Slater  school-house  in  the 
morning,  where  I  preached  to  twenty-five  people.  In 
the  afternoon  I  preached  again  to  fifty  people  in  the 
Savory  school-house.     In  the  evening  we  were  all  to- 


180  The  Farmer  Boy 

gether  in  the  Dixon  church  and  Mr.  Frost  preached  a 
rousing  sermon. 

During  that  week  we  were  in  camp  again  near  Bat- 
tle Mountain,  Mr.  Kane  and  his  good  wife  being  with 
us.  On  Sunday  morning  we  held  service  in  the  little 
school-house  at  Battle  Creek,  which  was  crowded  with 
twenty  people.  I  talked  to  them  on  the  text,  "  Fear 
not,  little  flock,  it  is  the  F  ather's  good  pleasure  to  give 
you  the  kingdom,"  after  which  Mr.  Frost  preached 
them  a  sermon.  In  such  places  the  people  would 
gladly  sit  and  listen  to  two  or  three  sermons  at  one 
service,  so  rarely  do  they  hear  preaching.  As  Mr. 
Kane  and  his  wife  were  anxious  to  drive  with  us  over 
the  continental  divide  to  Saratoga,  we  started  that  after- 
noon and  drove  up  the  river  to  Honold's  Ranch,  the 
last  of  our  Church  families  in  that  direction.  That 
night,  Mr.  Frost  was  very  ill  with  vomiting  and  high 
fever.  We  thought  he  must  have  mountain  fever  and 
we  had  to  remain  with  him  the  next  day.  As  he  was 
much  better  on  Tuesday,  we  drove  on  over  two  spurs 
of  the  Rockies  and  up  a  long  gorge  to  Columbine  in 
Colorado,  where  we  spent  the  night.  We  had  intended 
to  go  to  Steamboat  Springs,  Colorado,  but  as  it  rained 
the  next  forenoon,  we  had  to  give  that  up.  We  then 
drove  on  sixteen  miles  to  the  Elkhorn  Mine  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountains.  We  spent  the  night  in  the  log 
huts  of  the  miners.  We  found  here  an  English  Church 
woman  who  had  not  been  inside  a  church  for  years. 

On  Thursday  we  drove  twelve  miles  over  the  top 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  181 

of  the  Rockies  ten  thousand  feet  above  sea  level.  The 
road  was  very  rough  and  we  all  had  to  walk  down  the 
steep  mountain  road.  I  was  becoming  worn  out  and 
Mr.  Frost  was  sick  again  and  suffered  much  that  night. 
We  spent  the  night  in  a  camp  of  men  who  were  getting 
out  ties  for  the  railroad  to  float  down  the  Encampment 
River  in  the  spring.  They  were  very  kind  to  us.  Al- 
though two  of  us  were  ill,  we  thought  best  to  drive  on 
the  next  day  twenty-seven  miles  over  another  high  spur 
of  the  Rockies  to  Grand  Encampment,  where  we  could 
find  a  doctor.  The  next  day  being  Saturday,  I  called 
on  all  our  people  and  made  arrangement  for  service 
Sunday  morning.  That  morning  Mr.  Frost  was  not 
able  to  get  to  the  service,  so  I  preached  to  twenty- 
two  of  our  people  in  a  public  hall  and  administered  the 
communion.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Kane  drove  us  to 
Saratoga,  eighteen  miles.  As  we  have  no  missionary 
in  these  stations  at  present,  I  again  preached  in  the 
little  church  and  administered  the  communion.  The 
next  noon  Mr.  Frost  and  myself,  both  sick,  took  the 
stage  twenty-five  miles  to  Walcott  on  the  railroad  and 
then  the  night  train  five  hundred  miles  toward  home. 
We  had  traveled  by  stage  and  wagon  over  three  hun- 
dred miles  and  by  train  over  a  thousand  miles.  We 
had  hoped  that  the  camping  and  change  would  do  us 
good,  but  the  hard  journey  made  us  both  sick,  so  I  was 
in  bed  most  of  the  time  for  ten  days  after  reaching 
home. 

In  September  I  joined  the  Minnesota  friends  in  a 


182  The  Farmer  Boy 

quiet  camp  at  Mekenock,  or  Turtle  Island,  in  Turtle 
Lake,  northern  Minnesota.  While  there,  I  wrote  a  his- 
torical sermon,  covering  the  fifty  years  life  of  Gethse- 
mane  Parish,  Minneapolis,  in  which  I  was  once  an 
assistant  minister  for  a  year  and  afterwards  rector  for 
six  years.  On  October  1 4th  I  preached  that  sermon  at 
the  Jubilee  Service.  There  were  other  services  and  fes- 
tivities for  a  week  with  great  rejoicing.  These  were 
followed  by  the  meeting  of  the  Missionary  Council  of 
the  Sixth  Department,  held  in  Minneapolis. 

This  was  a  crowning  year  in  our  Church  school  for 
boys.  The  Kearney  Military  Academy.  There  were 
over  eighty  pupils  and  the  old  buildings  were  crowded 
beyond  all  comfort.  On  the  eighteenth  of  December 
I  presided  at  the  ceremony  of  laying  the  corner-stone 
of  the  new  Cochran  Hall.  Although  it  was  zero 
weather,  hundreds  of  people  from  far  and  near  assem- 
bled to  take  part  in  the  ceremony  in  the  open  air.  A 
procession  was  formed  at  the  old  buildings  and  marched 
to  the  foundation  of  the  new  one  in  the  following  order: 
The  Kearney  Midway  Band,  Hie  Knights  Templar, 
Blue  Lodge  Masons,  Kearney  Militia  Company, 
Cadets  of  the  State  Normal  School,  Kearney  High 
School,  The  State  Industrial  School,  and  those  of  the 
Kearney  Military  Academy.  Then  followed  the  of- 
ficials, speakers  and  the  orator  of  the  day.  During  the 
exercises,  I  read  a  brief  history  of  the  school.  Arch- 
deacon Cope  delivered  an  able  address  and  Wm.  Jen- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  183 

nings  Bryan  an  eloquent  oration.     I  give  below  the  his- 
torical address  substantially  as  delivered  by  myself: 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  KEARNEY  MILITARY  ACADEMY. 

On  my  second  visit  to  Broken  Bow,  in  the  year  1 890, 
I  had  gone  to  my  room  for  a  little  rest  on  Sunday 
afternoon.  Soon  after,  my  hostess  called  me,  saying 
that  a  caller  had  come  to  see  me.  Supposing  that  some 
prominent  Churchman  had  come  to  pay  his  respects 
to  the  new  Bishop,  I  went  down  to  the  parlor.  I  found 
there  a  lad  about  twelve  years  of  age.  I  was  pleased 
that  a  boy  should  be  so  thoughtful  as  to  call  on  his 
Bishop.  After  a  little  talk  together,  he  looked  earn- 
estly at  me  and  said,  "  When  can  the  Church  take 
me?  "  I  supposed  he  was  thinking  of  confirmation,  so 
1  asked  him  if  he  knew  his  catechism  and  what  prepa- 
ration he  had  had?  He  replied,  "Oh,  I  don't  mean 
that.  When  can  the  Church  take  me  and  educate  me 
for  the  ministry?  "  That  question  was  a  poser  to  rne. 
I  could  not  make  any  promises,  but  it  set  me  to  think- 
ing very  seriously.  I  knew  there  must  be  many  boys 
like  him  on  the  farms  and  lonely  ranches  of  Nebraska. 

Some  time  after  this  a  committee  of  the  United 
Brethren  Church  came  to  Kearney  with  the  intention 
of  starting  a  school  there.  They  canvassed  the  town 
to  see  what  could  be  raised  for  the  purpose.  They  got 
the  promise  of  twenty-five  acres  of  land  in  the  eastern 
part  of  tov/n  and  a  promise  to  put  up  one  large  building 
costing  seven  thousand  and  five  hundred  dollars.  The 
committee  then  went  to  York,  Nebraska,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  better  offer  there,  so  they  declined 
the  offer  at  Kearney.  Some  of  the  citizens  then  came 
to  me  and  asked  me  to  take  up  with  the  offer  made 


184  The  Farmer  Boy 

to  the  United  Brethren.  I  did  not  see  how  I  could 
do  so  then,  but  promised  that  on  my  trip  east  I  would 
see  if  I  could  get  sufficient  help  to  enable  me  to  found 
a  school. 

On  my  first  trip  east  to  raise  money  for  our  mis- 
sionary work  in  October  of  1890,  I  was  invited  to 
address  a  branch  of  the  Woman's  Auxiliary  of  a 
church  in  Yonkers,  New  York.  There  were  about 
thirty  ladies  present.  I  told  them  of  our  missionary 
work  and  then  I  told  them  the  story  of  the  little  boy 
at  Broken  Bow  and  of  the  offer  made  me  by  the  peo- 
ple of  Kearney.  I  said  I  needed  three  thousand 
dollars  to  build  a  dormitory  and  with  that  help  I 
thought  I  could  found  a  Church  school.  After  the 
meeting  had  adjourned,  a  lady  whom  I  had  never  seen 
came  to  me  and  said,  "  I  will  give  you  the  three  thou- 
sand dollars."  I  almost  broke  down  with  emotion. 
Something  for  which  I  had  pleaded  before  several 
wealthy  congregations  in  vain  was  now  put  in  my 
hands  without  much  effort.  This  lady  was  Mrs.  Eva 
S.  Cochran,  who  became  a  mother  to  the  school  and 
gave  to  its  upbuilding  at  one  time  or  another  about 
thirty-five  thousand  dollars. 

On  my  return  to  Kearney  I  told  the  people  that  I 
was  ready  to  go  ahead  with  the  school  and  directed 
them  to  go  on  and  put  up  the  large,  central  building. 
At  the  same  time  the  contract  was  let  for  the  dormi- 
tory of  forty  rooms.  It  was  slow  work  getting  the 
buildings  finished  and  furnished,  so  we  were  not  able 
to  open  the  school  until  the  September  of  1892.  At 
first  we  had  both  boys  and  girls  in  the  school  and  it  ran 
in  this  way  for  about  seven  years.  Gradually  the 
boys  increased  in  number  and  the  girls  became  fewer 
and  fewer  until  the  girls  were  reluctant  to  come  at  all 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  1 85 

among  so  many  boys.  About  this  time,  1898,  the 
Spanish  War  broke  out,  and  taking  advantage  of  the 
military  spirit  which  pervaded  the  country,  we  changed 
the  school  from  a  coeducational  institution  to  a  boy's 
military  academy.  At  this  time  the  name  was  changed 
from  The  Platte  Collegiate  Institute  to  The  Kearney 
Military  Academy. 

1  he  j^ear  we  opened  the  school  there  was  a  good  at- 
tendance of  boys  and  girls  mostly  from  the  country. 
The  tuition,  board  and  furnished  room  we  offered  for 
one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  a  year  and  were 
meeting  expenses  at  that  price.  Soon  after  came  the 
years  of  drought  and  famine,  so  the  country  people 
had  no  money  for  schooling  and  the  children  had  to 
work  the  year  around  to  fend  off  starvation.  It  was 
a  hard  time  for  the  school,  but  sympathizing  friends 
in  the  east  helped  us  to  keep  it  going. 

Professor  C.  A.  Murch  took  charge  of  the  school 
the  first  three  years  and  then  Mr.  H.  N.  Russell  for 
the  next  three  years.  Both  gave  up  discouraged  on 
account  of  the  hard  times.  Then  Rev.  E.  P.  Chitten- 
den took  the  school,  having,  like  the  others,  the  whole 
plant  rent  free,  on  condition  that  the  tuition  should  be 
kept  low  so  as  to  reach  the  needs  of  our  plainer  people. 
The  first  year  Dr.  Chittenden  did  very  well,  but  in 
the  midst  of  the  second  year,  on  account  of  neglect 
and  complications,  the  school  nearly  broke  up  entirely. 
I  then  induced  Mr.  Russell  to  become  head  master 
and  I  took  the  general  managemciit  of  the  school  my- 
self. I  might  then  have  given  up  the  school  in  despair 
if  just  at  that  time  an  endowment  of  thirty-six  thousand 
dollars  had  not  come  to  the  school  from  the  estate  of 
Mr.  Felix  R.  Brunot.  This  sum  I  carefully  set  aside, 
determined  to  use  only  the  interest  on  it  to  keep  the 


186  The  Farmer  Boy 

school  going  and  to  help  the  poorer  boys  with  scholar- 
ships. After  I  had  managed  the  school  for  several 
years  and  put  it  fairly  on  its  feet,  Mr.  Russell  was 
again  willing  to  take  the  school  plant,  rent  free,  and 
assume  the  financial  responsibilities.  As  the  times  im- 
proved, the  attendance  increased  until  the  boarding 
pupils  numbered  nearly  one  hundred  boys.  This 
greatly  crowded  our  buildings,  and  there  became  great 
need  of  a  large,  permanent,  fire-proof  building. 

At  this  juncture,  Mr.  F.  G.  Keens  of  Kearney 
came  to  me  and  offered  to  raise  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  in  Kearney,  giving  ten  thousand  dollars  of  it 
himself,  if  I  would  raise  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
in  the  east  for  a  fine  new  building.  I  laid  the  proposi- 
tion before  the  Mother  of  the  school,  Mrs.  Eva  S. 
Cochran,  and  after  careful  investigation,  she  promised 
the  other  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  The  building 
was  to  be  of  reenforced  concrete,  the  walls  filled  in 
with  pressed  brick  and  hollow  tile  and  the  whole  en- 
tirely fire-proof. 

I  would  here  add  that  in  due  time  the  building  was 
completed  and  occupied.  The  furnishing  of  this  new 
building  came  largely  from  the  generosity  of  Mr.  H. 
N.  Russell  and  from  a  legacy  left  to  the  school  by  a 
Mr.  Nathan  Campbell  of  Kearney.  As  the  expenses 
of  living  increased  and  the  people  were  better  able  to 
pay,  the  price  of  tuition  and  board  was  gradually 
raised  from  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollr^rs  a  year  to 
two  hundred  and  forty  dollars.  Mr.  Rjibell  remained 
in  charge  as  long  as  I  was  bishop  there  and  deserves 
great  credit  for  the  upbuilding  of  the  school.  The 
school  became  in  every  way  a  blessed  success  and  a 
helpful  adjunct  to  the  Church's  work  in  the  District 
of  Kearney  and  the  neighboring  dioceses.      I  would 


Who  Became  a  DisJiop  187 

also  add  that  the  little  boy  at  Broken  Bow  was  a  free 
pupil  in  the  school  for  several  years,  although  he  did 
not  finally  study  for  the  ministry.  Some  other  pupils 
of  the  school,  however,  are  now  in  the  ministry  and 
others  became  teachers  there  and  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

1  907. 

T  REMAINED  at  home  the  winter  of  this  year 
'^  teaching  my  youngest  son,  Paul,  who  was  not 
well  enough  to  attend  school.  Every  Sunday  I  was 
supplying  some  vacant  mission  with  services  or  assist- 
ing some  of  our  over-worked  clergy.  From  March  1  st 
to  July  1st  I  was  constantly  on  the  road  making  visita- 
tions. On  June  1 1  th  I  married  my  eldest  daughter, 
Margaret,  to  Rev.  G.  G.  Bennett,  whom  I  had  lately 
ordained  to  the  priesthood.  July  and  August  I  spent 
with  my  family  at  Mekenock,  on  Turtle  Lake,  Minne- 
sota. In  October,  with  my  wife,  I  attended  the  Gen- 
eral Convention  in  Richmond,  Virginia.  October  1 0th, 
by  action  of  the  House  of  Bishops,  I  was  relieved  of  the 
charge  of  eastern  Wyoming,  which  I  had  held  for  nine 
years.  That  state  was  then  made  into  a  separate  mis- 
sionary district  and  a  bishop  elected  for  it.  This  was  a 
blessed  relief  to  me,  as  all  that  work  with  my  advancing 
age  was  too  hard  for  me.  At  that  convention,  mission- 
ary bishops  were  elected  for  Nevada,  eastern  Oregon, 


188  The  Farmer  Boy 

western  Colorado  and  Wyoming.  The  last  of  No- 
vember I  started  with  my  wife  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Key  West,  Florida.  The  work  of  this  year  is  best 
summed  up  in  the  following  extract  from  my  report  to 
the  Board  of  Missions: 

"  The  last  year  has  L*^en  a  prosperous  one  for  our 
Missionary  District.  We  have  raised  more  money  for 
Church  extension  and  for  our  missions  than  in  any 
previous  year  and  ten  per  cent  more  candidates  for 
confirmation  have  been  presented  than  in  any  one  year 
before.  We  have  been  troubled  as  heretofore  for  lack 
of  clergymen,  but  those  in  the  field  have  made  extra 
efforts  to  reach  all  stations.  We  have  some  good  ex- 
amples of  successful  intensive  work  in  the  larger  places, 
but  the  missionary  having  the  largest  number  of  stations 
has  presented  the  largest  number  for  confirmation.  A 
large  per  cent  of  those  presented  in  the  small  stations 
are  adults  in  middle  life,  people  much  more  difficult 
to  reach  than  children  from  our  Sunday  schools.  This 
shows  the  character  of  our  work  and  that  if  we  neglect 
the  smaller  places  and  the  country  stations  to  concen- 
trate our  efforts  on  the  larger  places,  as  the  policy 
of  some  is,  we  shall  neglect  the  Church's  best  oppor- 
tunities. The  fact  is  that  we  have  few  large  places 
and  if  we  confined  our  efforts  to  them  we  should 
accomplish  little  in  a  district  like  ours. 

We  have  built  two  new  churches  the  last  year,  both 
to  replace  former  cheap  chapels  and  are  laying  founda- 
tions for  two  more  for  a  similar  purpose.  There  is  debt 
against  only  one  church  building  in  all  our  district. 
We  have  built  an  additional  building  for  our  boys* 
school  at  a  cost  of  fifty  thousand  dollars.    Many  places 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  189 

have  made  permanent  improvements  in  their  churches. 
In  many  respects  the  outlook  is  more  promising  than 
ever  before. 

During  the  year  I  have  visited  all  our  stations  w^here 
w^e  have  no  regular  services.  In  some  of  these  I  had 
confirmation  and  made  arrangements  for  regular 
services.  There  has  been  considerable  immigration 
into  Wyoming  and  still  more  into  western  Nebraska. 
The  price  of  land  has  doubled  in  the  last  three  years. 
Hardly  any  of  the  immigrants  are  Church  people,  but 
their  coming  gives  us  more  people  to  work  among  and 
they  increase  the  general  prosperity.  Only  a  small  pro- 
portion of  those  coming  from  farms  farther  east  are 
even  nominal  Christians  of  any  kind.  In  some  respects, 
they  are  more  difficult  to  reach  than  heathen  people. 
Still  we  welcome  their  coming  and  are  better  able  to 
interest  some  of  them  than  could  be  done  in  their  old 
homes. 

A  TYPICAL  NEW  MISSION. 

Some  four  or  five  years  ago  I  sent  a  missionary  to  the 
little  village  of  Gillette,  Wyoming,  to  spy  out  the  land. 
He  reported  that  there  were  not  only  no  Church  peo- 
ple there,  but  none  who  cared  for  Christian  services  of 
any  kind.  Cowboys  and  saloonkeepers  ran  the  town. 
Last  spring  I  received  a  letter  from  a  clergyman  in 
Illinois,  saying  that  a  Church  lady  from  Gillette  was 
visiting  there  who  named  several  Church  people  in 
Gillette  who  desired  the  services  of  the  Church.  I  im- 
mediately wrote  to  Gillette  asking  for  particulars  and 
received  an  encouraging  reply.  Although  the  place 
was  six  hundred  miles  from  my  home  and  my  appoint- 
ments were  out  for  that  part  of  my  field,  I  arranged 
to  §top  off  five  or  six  hours  between  trains.     On  arriv- 


190  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

ing  there  a  month  later  I  was  met  at  the  station  by  the 
leading  physician  and  taken  at  once  to  his  home.  His 
wife,  an  earnest  Church  woman,  told  me  that  there 
were  some  baptisms  and  several  anxious  to  be  con- 
firmed. She  took  me  at  once  to  call  on  the  parties. 
Two  hours  after  my  arrival  I  lectured  on  baptism  and 
administered  that  sacrament  to  two  adults  and  three 
children.  In  the  evening  forty-five  came  to  the  service 
in  the  Baptist  church.  I  preached  and  confirmed  five 
persons,  giving  them  particular  instructions.  I  then  ar- 
ranged to  stop  over  between  trains  on  my  return  a 
week  later.  At  that  time  I  baptized  one  adult  and  one 
child  and  administered  communion  to  six  persons,  in- 
structing them  the  best  I  could  in  the  brief  time  allowed. 
They  arranged  to  meet  every  Sunday  afternoon  for 
a  lay-readers'  service  and  singing  of  hymns.  Since 
then  the  nearest  missionary  at  Sheridan,  one  hundred 
miles  away,  has  visited  Gillette,  instructing  them  more 
fully  and  giving  them  the  communion.  The  Ladies 
Guild,  which  I  organized  at  first,  has  already  a  good 
fund  started  toward  building  a  chapel.  The  secretary 
of  the  guild  reports  to  me  every  few  weeks.  The  en- 
thusiasm of  a  new  mission  like  that  comes  like  a  fresh 
br.eeze  across  the  life  of  a  missionary  bishop. 

OUR  CHURCH  SCHOOL  FOR  BOYS. 
The  Kearney  Military  Academy  has  had  a  year  of 
blessed  and  successful  work.  We  were  obliged  to  de- 
cline some  applications  of  pupils  for  lack  of  room  to 
accommodate  them.  Between  eighty  and  ninety  boys 
have  been  in  the  school  during  the  year.  With  our  new 
fire-proof  building  now  nearing  completion,  we  shall 
be  able  to  accommodate  a  hundred  and  fifty  pupils  and 
the  prospects  are  that  it  will  soon  be  full.     Five  of  the 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  191 

boys  were  confirmed  during  the  year  and  all  the  boys 
have  learned  to  take  active  and  hearty  part  in  the  daily 
Prayer  Book  service.  A  young  clergyman,  a  graduate 
of  the  school,  is  to  be  the  resident  chaplain  and  teacher 
in  the  school  the  coming  year. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
1  908. 

DURING  this  winter,  from  December  1st  to 
March  8th,  I  had  charge  of  Holy  Innocents' 
Mission,  Key  West,  Florida,  at  the  earnest  request  of 
Bishop  Gray.  With  some  assistance  from  a  lay- 
reader,  I  held  three  services  and  a  Sunday  school  each 
Sunday.  I  made  five  hundred  and  fifty  parochial  calls, 
entered  into  the  parish  register  a  complete  list  of  one 
hundred  and  eighty-three  families,  baptized  thirty,  pre- 
pared and  confirmed  a  class  of  seventeen  and  found  a 
clergyman  to  carry  on  the  work.  I  also  confirmed  for 
Bishop  Gray  classes  in  three  other  churches  of  Key 
West.  The  work  of  a  parish  priest  and  parochial  rela- 
tions with  the  people  were  very  pleasant  and  satisfactory 
after  the  many  years  of  work  as  bishop.  While  doing 
this  work,  the  mild  climate  enabled  me  to  recover  my 
strength,  which  the  rigor  of  Nebraska  winters  had  im- 
paired of  late  years.  On  my  return  I  was  able  to  visit 
all  my  stations  by  the  first  of  June.  Just  after  the  com- 
mencement exercises  of  our  school,  I  started  with  my 


192  The  Farmer  Bo-^ 

wife  and  daughter,  Gertrude,  for  England,  to  attend 
the  Pan-AngHcan  Congress  and  the  Lambeth  Con- 
ference. 

The  congress  was  probably  the  largest  and  most  re- 
markable missionary  meeting  ever  held  up  to  that  time 
on  this  earth.  Delegates  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
were  there  and  meetings  were  held  simultaneously  in 
seven  great  halls  in  London.  About  a  hundred  differ- 
ent subjects  were  discussed  and  probably  a  thousand 
speeches  made  by  experts  and  others  most  familiar  with 
the  various  topics.  We  attended  all  we  could  of  the 
meetings,  which  lasted  ten  days  and  were  much  inter- 
ested and  edified.  Between  the  close  of  the  Congress 
and  the  Lambeth  Conference  we  attended  several  re- 
ceptions given  by  Lord  Elsmere,  the  Prince  of  Wales 
and  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London.  We  then  made  a 
rapid  trip  to  Oxford,  Warwick  and  Kenilworth  Cas- 
tles and  Stratford-on-Avon. 

The  Lambeth  Conference  was  held  in  Lambeth  Pal- 
ace, London,  the  home  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury. There  were  two  hundred  and  forty-three  bishops 
present  from  all  parts  of  the  world  where  English  is 
spoken  and  from  many  other  countries  where  we  have 
missions  among  the  heathen.  The  first  session  lasted  a 
week,  then,  after  a  recess  of  two  weeks,  ten  days  longer. 
The  more  important  subjects  discussed  were  the  fol- 
lowing: A  Revision  of  the  English  Prayer  Book; 
Consecration  of  Native  Bishops  for  Different  Races; 
Policy  of  the  Church  in  Regard  to  Divorces  and  Fam- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  193 

ily  Relations;  Social  Reform;  Increase  of  the  Minis- 
try; Intercommunion  and  Reunion  with  Old  Catholics, 
Moravians,  Eastern  Orthodox  Christians  and  the 
Various  Protestant  Churches;  The  Ministry  of  Heal- 
ing; The  Relation  of  the  Church  to  Modern  Science 
and  Thought.  The  discussions  were  earnest  and  able 
and  much  good  should  result  from  the  Conference. 

During  the  recess  of  two  weeks,  our  party  took  a  trip 
north  through  the  Lake  country  of  England,  across 
Scotland  and  back  by  the  great  cathedrals  in  the  east  of 
England.  Nearly  every  Sunday,  while  in  England,  I 
was  out  in  different  cities  preaching  missionary  sermons 
for  the  Society  for  the  Propogation  of  the  Gospel. 
August  7th  our  party  started  for  the  continent,  going 
through  Belgium,  up  the  Rhine,  through  northern 
Switzerland,  to  Vienna  and  the  chief  cities  of  Ger- 
many. I  was  taken  sick  at  Dresden  and  was  in  bed 
a  week.  After  that  I  started  for  home  and  arrived 
in  Kearney  October  4th.  I  found  several  of  our  mis- 
sion stations  vacant  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  year  giving 
them  services  and  securing  clergymen  for  them.  The 
following  is  a  partial  summary  of  my  annual  report,  sent 
to  the  Board  of  Missions : 

"  As  the  General  Convention  relieved  me  of  fifty 
thousand  square  miles  in  eastern  Wyoming  and  twenty 
stations,  our  report  will  show  a  decline  in  statistics. 
Still  our  work  has  prospered  and  I  have  been  able  to 
visit  many  of  the  stations  twice  in  consequence.  Our 
greatest  drawback  is  the  continuous  removal  of  our 


194  The  Farmer  Bo]) 

communicants  and  families.  A  number  of  our  places 
have  lost  half  their  members  by  removal  to  other  dio- 
ceses. Those  who  come  in  to  take  their  places  are 
rarely  ever  members  of  our  Church,  as  they  come  from 
dioceses  where  our  Church  is  very  weak.  I  have  con- 
firmed in  our  District  about  twice  as  many  communi- 
cants as  we  have  to-day  and  nearly  ten  times  as  many 
as  we  had  when  I  began  my  work  as  bishop.  Our  peo- 
ple seem  to  be  less  contented  with  life  in  the  country 
and  small  hamlets  than  members  of  the  denominations. 
Still  we  can  show  good  progress  made  all  along  the 
line.  We  often  hear  of  those  who  have  left  us  doing 
good  work  in  city  parishes  or  helping  to  establish  mis- 
sions on  the  Pacific  slope.  We  have  opened  some 
new  missions  in  places  where  we  could  not  get  an  open- 
ing before  and  are  building  two  or  three  new  churches. 
All  the  groups  of  missions  have  been  cared  for  during 
the  year  except  one  and  that  is  supplied  at  present. 

"  The  Kearney  Military  Academy  has  had  a  year 
of  good  progress.  At  Christmas  we  entered  our  new 
building.  The  average  attendance  has  been  one  hun- 
dred and  eight  boys  with  some  more  enrolled.  For  the 
first  time  we  have  had  a  resident  chaplain  and  the 
services  in  the  new  chapel  have  been  inspiring.  Less 
than  half  the  boys  on  entering  are  familiar  with  our 
services,  but  all  soon  take  a  hearty  part  in  the  responses. 
A  voluntary  Bible  class  has  been  maintained  and  eight 
boys  well  prepared  were  presented  for  confirmation. 
From  twenty  to  thirty  receive  the  communion  each 
Sunday.  Only  the  income  from  the  endowment  is  used 
and  the  outlook  is  very  bright.  The  Head  Master, 
Mr.  H.  N.  Russell,  has  made  a  splendid  record  and 
his  life  seems  wrapped  up  in  the  school." 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  195 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

1  909. 

T  REMAINED  at  home  most  of  the  winter  and 
^  held  services  on  Sundays  in  some  of  the  vacant 
missions.  Early  in  February  I  attended  in  Lincoln, 
Nebraska,  a  meeting  for  the  Federation  of  Churches, 
A  tentative  organization  was  formed  in  which  our  dele- 
gates had  no  authority  to  unite  or  act  for  the  Church. 
The  discussions  were  most  brotherly  in  spirit  and  good 
words  were  spoken  in  favor  of  church  unity.  From 
there  I  went  on  to  New  York  to  attend  a  meeting  of 
the  House  of  Bishops.  At  that  meeting  missionary 
bishops  were  elected  for  Wyoming  and  western  Colo- 
rado. While  in  the  east,  I  visited  a  few  friends  of  our 
work  in  New  York,  New  Haven  and  Cleveland.  Be- 
fore the  end  of  the  month  I  was  back  in  Nebraska  and 
began  my  spring  visitations.  These  kept  me  con- 
stantly on  the  road  until  the  middle  of  June.  By  that 
time  I  was  worn  out,  so  that  for  the  next  two  months  I 
was  much  of  the  time  in  bed,  dictating  letters  to  my 
daughter.  I  also  prepared  my  annual  address  to  our 
convocation  and  my  report  to  the  Board  of  Missions. 
In  August  I  visited  some  places  in  the  Black  Hills  for 
confirmation,  at  the  request  of  Bishop  Hare,  who  was 
then  on  his  death-bed  at  Atlantic  City.  In  September 
I  spent  four  weeks  with  my  old  friend,  Rev.  C.  H. 


196  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

Plummer,  D.D.,  in  Minnesota,  camping  most  of  the 
time  on  Turtle  Island. 

After  attending  the  Missionary  Conference  of  the 
Sixth  Department  at  Sioux  Falls,  South  Dakota,  in 
October,  I  visited  for  the  second  time  the  stations  and 
work  of  George  G.  Ware.  In  the  northwestern  part 
of  Nebraska  is  a  large  district,  known  as  the  "  Sand 
Hill  Country."  It  is  about  two  hundred  miles  from 
east  to  west  and  about  one  hundred  miles  north  and 
south.  It  is  a  succession  of  hills  and  valleys.  Some 
of  the  hills  are  four  hundred  feet  in  height,  but  most 
of  them  are  much  less.  Between  these  hills  running  in 
every  direction  are  low  valleys.  In  some  of  these  val- 
leys are  shallow  lakes.  In  these  valleys  the  wild  grass  is 
cut  for  hay.  The  hills  are  green  for  about  four  months 
of  the  year  and  are  reddish  brown  the  rest  of  the  time. 
Everywhere  through  this  sand  hill  country  are  ranch- 
men who  keep  large  herds  of  cattle.  The  ranch 
houses  are  from  five  to  eight  miles  apart.  There  are 
several  branches  of  railroad  running  into  the  edge  of 
this  country  which  carry  the  cattle  to  market  in  the  fall. 
One  railroad,  the  Burlington,  runs  through  the  middle 
of  this  country  the  whole  length  from  east  to  west. 
Along  this  railroad  about  every  twenty-five  miles  are 
little  hamlets  with  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  inhabitants. 
There  are  generally  two  or  three  large  stores  in  these 
hamlets  which  supply  the  ranchmen  for  forty  miles  each 
side  of  the  railroad.     In  some  of  these  hamlets  there 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  197 

is  a  Methodist  chapel  with  occasional  services  and  in 
others  there  are  rarely  any  religious  services. 

The  winter  before  this  I  heard  of  a  man  who  had 
been  a  clergyman  living  on  a  ranch  a  few  miles  from 
Mullen  in  the  very  center  of  this  sand  hill  country. 
Some  two  or  three  years  before  this  he  had  become  in- 
volved in  land  trouble  with  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment largely  through  the  fault  of  others.  On  this 
account  he  had  asked  to  be  deposed  from  the  ministry 
by  Bishop  Hare.  The  people  of  Mullen  had  asked 
him  to  bury  their  dead  and  give  them  services.  He 
wrote  to  me  for  a  lay-reader's  license,  which  I  gladly 
gave  him,  with  permission  to  exhort.  He  went  to  work 
in  Mullen  and  in  the  country  school-houses  for  thirty 
miles  around.  In  May  of  this  same  year  I  visited  his 
central  station  at  Mullen.  As  the  first  fruits  of  his 
work,  I  baptized  ten,  confirmed  twenty-five  and  gave 
communion  to  twenty-eight.  I  was  not  able  to  visit  his 
field  again  until  the  following  October. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fifteenth  of  that  month,  Mr. 
Ware  met  me  as  I  alighted  from  the  train  at  the  little 
town  of  Seneca,  in  the  heart  of  the  sand  hills.  The 
next  morning  being  Sunday,  we  drove  eight  miles  north 
to  a  ranchman's  house,  where  I  baptized  one  adult  and 
seven  children.  After  instruction  I  confirmed  the  father 
and  mother  of  the  family.  We  then  drove  on  four 
miles  farther  to  Miller's  ranch,  where  I  baptized  five 
adults  and  two  children.  I  then  gave  an  instruction 
and  confirmed  six  adults.     We  took  dinner  there  and 


198  The  Farmer  Boy 

then  drove  two  miles  to  a  school-house  known  as  Jim- 
town,  but  eight  miles  from  any  town.  There  I 
preached  and  baptized  two  aduhs  and  five  children. 
After  an  extended  instruction  I  confirmed  fifteen  and 
addressed  them  on  the  duties  of  the  Christian  life.  We 
then  drove  a  couple  of  miles  farther  to  Ricker's  ranch 
where  we  spent  the  night. 

The  next  morning  I  baptized  a  child  there  and  then 
we  drove  eighteen  miles  against  a  cold  wind  to  the  little 
town  of  Mullen  on  the  railroad.  That  evening  we  had 
eighty  people  in  the  public  hall,  that  being  two-thirds 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town.  I  baptized  a  school 
teacher,  preached  and  confirmed  seven  adults.  The 
next  morning  I  confirmed  one  more  in  the  hall  and  ad- 
ministered the  communion  to  twenty-four.  We  then 
held  a  business  meeting  with  the  congregation  and  de- 
cided to  build  a  church  or  rectory.  In  the  afternoon 
we  looked  with  the  committee  at  several  sites  for  the 
church  and  decided  on  one  which  was  offered  as  a 
gift.  On  the  seventeenth  we  drove  seven  miles  to 
Perkin's  ranch  and  confirmed  Mr.  Perkins  and  his  son. 
After  lunch  there  we  drove  several  miles  to  L.  C. 
Smith  school-house  where  we  had  a  congregation  of 
twenty-five  which  more  than  filled  the  little  building. 
After  preaching  I  baptized  three  adults  and  seventeen 
children,  confirmed  twelve  and  addressed  them.  We 
then  drove  four  miles  to  Mr.  Ware's  home  on  a  ranch, 
where  we  spent  the  night. 

The  following  day  we  drove  to  Faut*s  ranch,  where 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  199 

I  baptized  four  adults,  gave  an  instruction  and  con- 
firmed nine.  After  lunch  there  we  drove  to  Mr.  Sil- 
baugh's  house,  where  I  baptized  six  children  and  con- 
firmed Mrs.  Silbaugh.  We  then  returned  to  Mr. 
Ware's  home,  having  driven  twenty  miles  that  day. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  October  we  drove  fifteen 
miles  to  MahafFey's  ranch  and  in  the  evening  confirmed 
Mr.  Mahaffey.  There  we  spent  the  night.  The  next 
day  we  drove  to  Phillip's  ranch,  where  I  baptized  two 
adults  and  two  children  and  confirmed  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Phillips.  After  lunch  there  we  drove  on  to  Gragg's 
ranch,  seventeen  miles  in  all,  where  we  spent  the 
night. 

October  24th  being  Sunday,  we  held  service  in 
Eclipse  school-house,  where  I  preached  to  fifteen 
people  and  returned  to  Gragg's  ranch.  In  the  evening 
I  confirmed  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gragg  and  their  son.  On 
Monday  I  was  taken  to  Carey's  ranch,  to  rest  and 
hunt  ducks.  On  Tuesday  afternoon  I  returned  to 
Eclipse  Post  Office  and  held  service  with  Mr.  Ware 
in  a  private  house.  I  gave  an  instruction,  baptized  six 
adults  and  two  children  and  confirmed  seven.  After 
another  day  of  rest  and  hunting  at  Quinn's  ranch,  we 
drove  ten  miles  to  Huffman's  ranch.  There  I  con- 
firmed Mr.  Huffman  and  his  son.  On  Saturday  we 
drove  eighteen  miles  to  Stoddard's  ranch,  near  a  post 
office,  called  Lena.  On  Sunday,  October  31st,  I 
made  two  addresses  in  the  ranch-house,  baptized  three 
adults  and  three  children  and  confirmed  four.     In  the 


200  The  Farmer  Boy 

afternoon  I  preached  to  twenty-six  in  the  hall  at  Lena, 
after  which  we  drove  twenty  miles,  facing  a  cold  north 
wind  to  Gragg's  ranch.  This  night,  as  on  several  other 
occasions,  Mr.  Ware  slept  on  the  floor  with  the  carriage 
robes  above  and  below  him.  The  night  before  both 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ware  slept  on  a  load  of  hay  in  a  barn- 
yard. Mrs.  Ware  v,?as  with  us  on  most  of  the  trip  and 
did  her  full  share  of  the  work  in  personal  talks  with 
the  candidates  for  baptism  and  confirmation.  The  next 
and  last  day  we  drove  twenty-eight  miles  to  Mullen, 
where  I  conferred  again  with  the  building  committee 
and  took  the  night  train  toward  home.  During  the  six- 
teen days  we  had  driven  over  two  hundred  miles,  held 
nineteen  separate  services,  not  one  of  them  in  a  church 
building,  delivered  seventeen  extempore  sermons,  bap- 
tized seventy-two,  mostly  adults,  and  confirmed 
seventy-four.  That  made  ninety-nine  confirmations  in 
Mr.  Ware's  field  within  six  months.  A  year  before 
there  were  not  half  a  dozen  Church  people  in  his  dis- 
trict and  very  few  Christians  of  any  kind. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

1910. 

S  MY  health  had  not  been  good  for  four  years, 
I  was  afraid  to  spend  another  winter  in  the  cold 
and  storms  of  Nebraska.  I,  therefore,  made  arrange- 
ments to  spend  the  winter  in  southern  California.    With 


A 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  201 

my  wife  and  daughter,  Gertrude,  we  arrived  in  San 
Diego  December  1  st,  1 909.  At  the  earnest  request 
of  Bishop  Johnson,  I  took  temporary  care  of  All  Saints' 
Mission  parish,  whose  rector  had  broken  down  in 
health.  While  the  work  was  very  interesting,  it  proved 
rather  too  hard  for  me,  so  that  for  the  three  months  I 
was  not  very  well.  Still  I  carried  it  on  until  the  last 
of  March,  when  I  returned  to  my  own  Missionary  Dis- 
trict. Although  not  feeling  strong,  I  began  my  spring 
visitations  the  first  of  April  and  kept  steadily  at  them 
until  the  first  of  July.  Extra  strength  seemed  to  be 
given  me  for  this  work.  It  was  my  habit  to  call  on  all 
our  people  in  the  smaller  towns,  administer  the  holy 
communion,  preach,  confirm  any  candidates  that  were 
ready  and  make  a  special  address  to  them,  also  address 
the  Sunday  school  where  we  had  one.  There  were 
about  twenty-five  miles  ride  on  the  train  each  day  or 
night  and  many  letters  to  answer  all  the  time.  The 
missionaries  all  reported  to  me  at  the  end  of  each  month 
and  I  sent  them  a  check  foi  the  balance  due  on  their 
salary.  In  this  way,  I  kept  in  close  touch  with  all  the 
work  and  the  woikers. 

I  ended  up  my  visitations  the  last  of  June  by  visiting 
again  the  stations  in  the  sand  hills  in  the  care  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  G.  G.  Ware.  This  time  I  took  my  daughter, 
Gertrude,  to  add  interest  to  the  services  by  her  singing. 
She  sung  as  solos  several  of  the  most  effective  Gospel 
Hymns.  Mrs.  Ware  played  the  cottage  organs  and 
Miss  Ware  accompanied  with  the  violin.     We  were 


202  The  Farmer  Boy 

sixteen  days  on  the  trip  driving  every  day  and  holding 
about  twenty  services  in  the  school-houses,  pubHc  halls 
and  private  houses.  In  a  little  over  a  year  I  confirmed 
in  Mr.  Ware's  field  about  one  hundred  and  thirty, 
nearly  all  adults,  and  baptized  about  the  same  number. 
During  the  same  time,  we  built  a  church  building  at 
Mullen  and  a  little  rectory.  This  phenominal  work 
among  farmers  and  ranchmen  shows  what  can  be  done 
by  our  Church  among  country  people,  where  we  go  at 
it  in  the  right  way.  This  was  a  district  practically 
without  religious  services  of  any  kind,  so  there  was  no 
opposition  to  distract  the  people's  minds.  Mr.  Ware, 
having  been  a  ranchman,  thoroughly  understood  the 
people  he  worked  among.  Mr.  Ware  planted,  the 
Bishop  watered  and  God  gave  the  increase. 

During  the  rest  of  the  summer,  I  gave  services  at 
several  vacant  places  and  went  a  number  of  times  to 
places  where  we  were  building  churches  and  a  rectory. 
I  did  not  get  away  for  any  vacation.  I  prepared  my 
annual  report  to  the  Board  of  Missions  and  my  address 
to  our  annual  convocation.  I  felt  conscious  that  this 
would  be  the  last  year  of  my  work  as  Bishop  of  Kear- 
ney. Our  convocation  met  at  Holdrege,  where  my 
son-in-law.  Rev.  G.  G.  Bennett,  was  in  charge  on  the 
seventh  and  eighth  of  September. 

I  was  able  to  report  to  the  convocation  that  I  had 
confirmed  during  the  year  two  hundred  and  sixty-four 
persons;  had  secured  and  paid  out  for  missionary 
work  about  three  thousand  dollars;  that  we  had  en- 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  203 

dowment  funds  for  different  purposes  to  the  value  of 
sixty  thousand  three  hundred  and  fifty-four  dollars ;  that 
we  had  special  funds  for  new  churches  to  the  amount 
of  three  thousand  four  hundred  and  sixty-seven  dollars; 
that  the  Church  school  had  prospered  with  nearly  one 
hundred  boys;  that  we  had  paid  the  General  Board 
of  Missions  about  one  hundred  dollars  more  than  our 
apportionment;  that  we  had  opened  up  new  work  in 
several  places;  and  that  I  should  probably  resign  my 
work  as  Bishop  of  Kearney  at  the  coming  General  Con- 
vention in  October. 

Soon  after  the  convocation,  I  sent  off  the  following 
letter: 

**  To  the  Presiding  Bishop  and  the  House  of  Bishops 
of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church: 

"  Dear  Fathers  in  God: 

"  I  hereby  tender  my  resignation  of  the  Missionary 
Jurisdiction  of  Kearney,  to  take  effect  as  soon  as  the 
Episcopal  care  of  the  District  can  be  otherwise  pro- 
vided for. 

"  The  reasons  which  impel  me  to  this  action  are  as 
follows : 

"  1  St.  On  ciccount  of  my  advanced  age,  sixty-eight 
years,  and  the  infirmities  incident  to  that  age  making 
it  difficult  for  me  to  do  the  full  duties  and  endure  the 
strain  of  a  work  like  that  in  the  District  of  Kearney. 

*'  2dly.  On  account  of  my  health  which  has  been 
failing  for  the  last  five  years  so  that  I  have  been  seri- 
ously ill  after  most  of  my  spring  visitations. 

"  3dly.     Because  of  the  difficulty  of  securing  a  mis- 


204  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

sionary  bishop  for  such  work  in  case  of  my  becoming 
utterly  incapacitated  between  the  meetings  of  the  Gen- 
eral Convention."  "  Anson  R.  Graves, 

"  Bishop  of  Kearney." 

This  letter  was  accompanied  by  a  certificate  from 
our  family  physician  to  the  effect  that  if  I  kept  on  with 
my  present  strenuous  duties  I  was  likely  to  break  down 
completely  at  any  time,  but  that  if  I  could  be  relieved 
I  might  live  in  comparative  comfort  for  several  years 
and  be  able  to  do  some  lighter  work. 

On  our  way  to  the  General  Convention,  to  be  held 
at  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  Mrs.  Graves  and  myself  visited 
friends  in  Omaha  and  Cleveland.  At  Cleveland  I  at- 
tended all  one  day  the  convention  of  the  colored  clergy 
and  workers  of  our  Church  in  the  United  States.  I 
was  pleased  with  the  zeal  and  orderly  conduct  of  their 
business  and  with  the  marked  ability  shown  by  several 
of  their  clergy.  Some  of  their  laymen  also  were  men 
of  mark. 

At  the  General  Convention  we  were  entertained  part 
of  the  time  at  the  home  of  Mr.  Albert  W.  Schell,  who 
is  a  son  in  the  family  I  lived  with  when  in  college  and 
whose  parents  were  my  witnesses,  or  God-parents,  at 
my  baptism.  The  parents  had  long  been  dead,  but  I 
found  the  son  prominent  and  active  in  Church  work, 
as  well  as  a  successful  business  man  of  Cincinnati. 
The  rest  of  the  time  we  were  entertained  at  the  home 
of  Mr.  Henry  Garlick,  the  father-in-law  of  one  of  my 
own  clergymen,  Rev.  C.  F.  Chapman  of  North  Platte. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  205 

I  was  able  to  attend  every  session  of  the  House  of 
Bishops  and  spoke  on  important  questions  more  fre- 
quently and  freely  than  ever  before.  On  the  eighteenth 
of  October  the  matter  of  my  resignation  w^as  consid- 
ered and  w^ith  many  kind  words  of  regret  from  several 
bishops  was  accepted.  The  Presiding  Bishop  imme- 
diately appointed  me  in  charge  of  the  District  of  Kear- 
ney until  my  successor  should  be  consecrated.  At  the 
request  of  several  bishops,  desiring  to  know  my  wishes 
as  to  my  successor,  I  ventured  to  nominate  three,  any 
one  of  whom  I  thought  would  make  a  faithful  bishop ; 
viz. :  Geo.  A.  Beecher,  Dean  of  the  cathedral  at 
Omaha  and  formerly  a  missionary  in  my  District,  Rev. 
Irving  P.  Johnson,  rector  of  Gethsemane  Church, 
Minneapolis,  and  Rev.  C.  C.  Rollitt,  Secretary  of  the 
Sixth  Missionary  Department.  Of  these  Dean  Beecher 
received  the  largest  number  of  votes  and  was  nominated 
to  the  House  of  Deputies  as  my  successor.  The  nom- 
ination was  unanimously  confirmed  by  that  House.  On 
my  way  home,  I  spent  several  days  with  Dean  Beecher, 
explaining  the  condition  of  the  funds  and  the  work  and 
workers  in  the  District  of  Kearney. 

On  our  return  to  Kearney,  there  was  much  to  do 
in  closing  up  my  work  and  breaking  up  our  home  of 
twenty-one  years.  The  people  of  North  Platte  in- 
sisted on  my  coming  there  for  farewell  services  and  a 
reception.  This  was  an  interesting  occasion.  I  had 
been  present  at  the  consecration  of  their  first  church 
nearly  forty  years  before — had  then  been  called  as 


206  The  Farmer  Boy 

their  first  pastor — had  consecrated  their  second  church 
just  twenty  years  later  and  had  sustained  intimate  rela- 
tions with  the  parish  for  the  last  twenty-one  years.  At 
the  reception  I  received  many  touching  tributes  of  re- 
spect and  affection  and  a  purse  of  fifty  dollars  in  gold. 
Mrs.  Graves  also  received  loving  tributes  by  the 
speakers. 

On  the  evening  of  November  28th  a  farewell  re- 
ception was  given  to  Mrs.  Graves  and  myself  in  a  public 
hall  in  Kearney.  Complimentary  addresses  were  made 
by  Mr.  H.  N.  Russell,  Head  Master  of  our  Church 
school  for  boys,  and  by  the  rector  of  the  parish.  Rev. 
P.  G.  Snow.  It  appeared  there  that  a  fund  had  been 
raised  from  the  District  with  which  to  place  a  large, 
framed  portrait  of  myself  in  the  school  and  also  a 
bronze  tablet,  commemorating  me  as  the  founder  of 
the  school.  At  the  same  time  a  purse  of  forty  dollars 
in  gold  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Graves  by  the  Woman's 
Auxiliary  of  the  District  of  which  she  had  been  presi- 
dent for  many  years.  There  were  present  at  the  recep- 
tion not  only  the  people  of  our  Church  but  also  the 
leading  men  of  the  city.  This  was  my  last  day  in 
Kearney  as  bishop. 

In  my  report  to  the  Board  of  Missions  this  year  I 
gave  them  this: 

"summary  of  twenty-one  years. 
"  A  brief  summary  of  my  work  as  missionary  bishop 
for  twenty-one  years  may  be  of  interest  to  the  Board. 
I  have  ordained  fourteen  deacons  and  thirteen  priests. 


MRS.  A.  R.  GKAVES  AT   FIFTY   VKAR.S  OF  AGE. 


Who  Became  a  Bishop 


207 


We  have  had  eighty-three  different  clergymen  in  the 
twenty-one  years.  Of  these  I  have  transferred  sixty- 
four  to  other  jurisdictions,  one  of  whom  has  returned. 
Four  have  died  in  this  jurisdiction  and  eight  have  died 
since  leaving  us.  We  still  have  fourteen  besides  the 
Bishop  canonically  resident.  We  have  built  twenty-six 
churches  and  fourteen  rectories.  I  have  baptized  in  my 
own  District  four  hundred  and  fifty-six  and  confirmed 
four  thousand  and  thirteen.  I  have  married  twenty-four 
couples.  Of  those  confirmed  fifteen  hundred  were 
brought  up  in  our  own  Church,  five  hundred  and  forty- 
five  had  no  religious  antecedents.  The  other  two 
thousand  and  sixty-eight  had  had  some  religious  train- 
ing in  twenty-four  different  religious  bodies  in  child- 
hood, but  for  the  most  part  were  not  active  members 
of  any.  The  average  age  of  those  confirmed  was 
twenty-five,  but  ranging  all  the  way  from  ten  to  ninety- 
four  years.  All  the  baptisms  in  our  present  District 
of  Kearney,  that  is  western  Nebraska,  were  four  thou- 
sand and  ninety-five;  marriages  six  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-one; burials  seven  hundred  and  seventy-three; 
public  services  forty-three  thousand  five  hundred  and 
forty-eight. 

"  Twenty-one  years  ago  we  had  not  a  dollar  of 
funds  of  any  kind.     To-day  we  have: 


"  School  Endowment  Fund .... 
**  Missionary  Endowment  Fund. 
"  Episcopal  Endowment  Fund . 
"  Insurance  Endowment  Fund. . 
*'  Scholarship  Endowment  Fund 
"  Church  Building  Funds 


$36,275.00 
10.610.84 
7,768.31 
4,600.00 
1,200.00 
2,398.47 


Total $62,852.62 


208  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

**  When  I  began  my  work  in  this  District  we  had 
property  in  churches  and  rectories  to  the  value  of 
forty  thousand  dollars.  Our  property  to-day  in' 
churches,  rectories  and  the  school  amounts  to  two 
hundred  and  fifty-four  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty 
dollars  and  fifty-seven  cents  above  debts,  showing  an 
increase  together  with  our  funds,  in  twenty-one  years, 
of  two  hundred  and  seventy-seven  thousand  four  hun 
dred  and  ninety-three  dollars  and  nineteen  cents. 

"  The  day  after  the  farewell  reception  in  Kearney 
we  took  the  train  for  Omaha  to  join  in  the  consecration 
of  Dean  Beecher  as  my  successor.  Again  we  were 
guests  at  the  home  of  my  old  friend,  Philip  Potter, 
who  had  been  a  great  help  to  me  in  investing  the  perma- 
nent funds  of  our  District  and  in  caring  for  them  after 
they  were  invested.  In  the  presence  of  a  vast  congrega- 
tion, a  large  number  of  clergy  and  several  bishops,  on 
St.  Andrew's  Day,  November  30th,  Dean  Beecher 
was  consecrated  the  second  bishop  of  the  District  of 
Kearney.  As  my  hands  rested  on  his  head  in  the  con- 
secration my  authority  as  bishop  of  that  District  passed 
from  me  forever  and  my  work  as  such  was  ended. 
Here  also,  I  end  this  account  of  myself  and  my  Hfe 
work." 

CONCLUSION. 
As  I  look  back  over  my  life  to  the  aspirations  and 
inspirations  of  my  youth,  I  cannot  but  feel  that,  in  tak- 
ing up  the  work  of  the  ministry  instead  of  law  and 
politics,   I  did  the  wisest  and  best  thing  possible  as 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  209 

social  and  civil  conditions  then  existed.  Politics  were 
managed  by  party  leaders  and  bosses  in  such  a  way  that 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  gain  prominence  and  promo- 
tion in  ways  that  were  strictly  honorable.  There  may 
have  been  exceptions,  but  such  was  the  general  rule.  I 
hope  conditions  are  better  now  and  will  continue  to  grow 
still  better.  Of  this  much  I  am  assured  that  my  life  has 
been  happier  and  I  trust  more  useful  in  the  course  I 
have  followed.  The  joys  of  a  minister's  life,  the  triumph 
of  winning  souls  for  Christ,  the  turning  of  the  indifferent 
and  even  the  infidel  from  their  carelessness  and  unrest 
to  the  peace  and  glowing  hopes  of  a  Christian,  are  such 
as  can  hardly  be  equalled  In  any  other  calling.  While 
a  clergyman  may  not  become  wealthy  he  generally  has 
the  comforts  of  life.  In  the  thousands  of  homes  in 
which  I  have  been  entertained  I  have  generally  found 
those  of  the  clergy  the  sunniest  and  sweetest  of  them 
all.  God  be  thanked  that  it  is  so.  May  many  a  youth 
looking  forward  to  his  life  work  avoid  the  stormy 
hunger,  the  burning  greed,  the  bitter  rivalries  and  the 
crushing  disappointments  of  most  of  those  who  make 
gold  their  god  and  become  worshippers  of  mammon. 
May  more  of  them  seek  and  find  the  quiet  joy,  the 
lasting*  peace,  the  blessed  affections  and  loving  re- 
lationships which  come  to  the  faithful  priest  and  pastor 
of  the  Church  of  God. 


APPENDIX. 

As  I  never  expect  to  write  another  book,  I  append 
the  following  odds  and  ends  which  may  be  of  interest 
or  amusement  to  some  of  those  who  have  read  thus  far. 

In  1908,  feeling  the  uselessness,  except  to  cultivate 
the  habit  of  prayer,  of  a  child  saying  the  old  familiar 

**  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep. 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take," 

all  being  about  its  soul,  even  before  it  knows  what  its 
soul  is,  I  composed  the  following,  expressing  the  simple 
needs  and  proper  aspirations  of  a  child : 

child's  morning  prayer. 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  sleep  and  rest. 
For  all  the  things  that  I  love  best. 
Now  guide  me  through  another  day 
And  bless  my  work  and  bless  my  play. 
Lord  make  me  strong  for  noble  ends. 
Protect  and  bless  my  loving  friends. 
Of  all  mankind  good  Christians  make. 
All  this  I  ask  for  Jesus'  sake.     Amen. 

child's  evening  prayer. 

Lord  send  me  sleep  that  I  may  live. 
The  wrongs  I've  done  this  day  forgive. 
Bless  every  deed  and  thought  and  word 


IVhx)  Became  a  Bishop  21 1 

I've  rightly  done,  or  said,  or  heard. 

Bless  relatives  and  friends  alway. 

Teach  all  the  world  to  watch  and  pray. 

My  thanks  for  all  my  blessings  take 

And  hear  my  prayer  for  Jesus'  sake.     Amen. 

In  1872,  inspired  by  an  imaginary  incident,  I  wrote 
the  following : 

THE  PURITAN  MAIDEN. 

0  where  is  the  blood  of  that  stern  old  race 
Who  traversed  the  sea  to  that  desolate  strand. 

Who  battled  New  England's  forests  down 
And  hunted  the  red  man  out  of  the  land? 

Who  prayed  like  a  Peter  and  preached  like  a  Paul, 
But  banished  the  Quaker  and  murdered  the  witch. 

Who  fought  for  their  rights  like  a  Spartan  or  Turk 
While  others  they  treated  to  feathers  and  pitch. 

1  now  see  it  flow  through  a  maiden's  veins 

Whose  forehead  is  high  and  whose  eye  is  clear. 
Whose  delicate  nose  and  lips  and  chin 

Are  classically  chiseled,  are  sweetly  austere. 

More  gently  it  throbs  in  her  womanly  heart. 

But  still  in  its  beating  is  firm  and  high 
And  the  spring  of  her  pulse  shows  a  spirit  well  wrought 

To  dare  or  to  suffer,  to  do  or  to  die. 

And  there  is  a  purity  calm  and  severe 

Which  speaks  of  some  hero  or  martyr  of  old 

Whose  ashes  have  bittered  her  own  limpid  mind 
With  a  truth  that  is  harsh  and  a  love  that  is  cold. 


212  The  Farmer  Boy 

The  following  is  the  substance  and  almost  literally 
the  words  of  my  daily  evening  prayer  for  many  years 
during  my  episcopate : 

O  Lord,  merciful  Father,  I  pray  Thee  forgive  me 
for  whatever  I  have  done  amiss  this  day  in  thought, 
word,  or  deed,  or  failed  to  do  that  I  should  have  done. 
Bless  what  I  have  done  and  accept  my  thanks  for  the 
blessings  of  the  past  day.  Give  me  sleep  and  rest  this 
night  to  fit  me  for  the  duties  of  the  coming  day. 

Guard,  guide  and  bless  my  wife,  my  children  and 
their  children,  my  other  relatives  and  friends,  all  who 
have  loved  me  or  whom  I  have  loved,  especially  Lucy 
and  Philip.  Bless  also  my  God-children,  my  clergy 
and  Church  workers  and  our  Church  school  in  all  its 
interests. 

Send  Thy  blessing,  temporal  and  spiritual,  upon  all 
the  givers  and  helpers  of  our  work,  especially  Mather, 
Hadden,  Auchmuty,  Walcott,  Cochran,  Ward  and 
her  helpers,  the  Woodwards,  Lewis,  Markoe,  Coles, 
Van  Wagenen,  Brown,  Rogers,  Benson,  the  Pierre- 
ponts,  Godfrey,  Thaw,  Castleman,  Hunnewell,  Brown- 
ing and  Welles. 

Bring  about  the  unity  of  Thy  Church  in  Thy  good 
time  and  way  and  the  spread  of  Thy  kingdom  every- 
where. 

Have  mercy  on  the  suffering  and  sorrowing,  the  un- 
fortunate, the  lonely,  the  aged  and  infirm,  the  poor, 
the  disappointed,  the  discouraged,  the  despairing  and 
the  broken-hearted.  All  this  I  ask  for  Blessed  Jesus' 
sake.    Amen,  amen. 

In  1 876  occurred  the  Golden  Wedding  of  George 
and  Adaline  Graves,  the  uncle  and  aunt  with  whom  I 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  213 

had  a  home  for  two  years  while  preparing  for  college 
and  whom  I  loved  dearly.  I  was  able  to  be  present 
and  brought  the  following  as  my  contribution. 

*Twas  a  golden  fleece  that  Jason  sought 

O'er  land  and  sea  of  old. 
And  a  god  came  down  to  Danae's  bower 

In  a  fleece  of  showery  gold. 

'Tis  a  purse  of  gold  the  miner  seeks 

And  delves  with  laboring  pain. 
And  the  farmer  bends  his  back  in  toil 

To  reap  his  golden  grain. 

But  the  golden  fleece  of  tender  hopes 

A  love  grown  ripe  and  old 
And  the  mellow  joys  of  fifty  years 

Are  the  richest  feast  of  gold. 

And  the  fruits  of  love  are  good  to  see. 

Brave  sons  and  daughters  fair. 
And  children's  children  clustered  round. 

Bright  eyes  and  golden  hair. 

Nor  these  alone,  but  others  too. 

Who  else  might  wanderers  be. 
Are  nestled  in  this  home  of  love 

And  share  its  wedding  glee. 

And  not  a  lamb  of  all  this  flock. 

Or  here  or  gathered  home. 
But  owns  the  bond  the  Saviour  wrought. 

Nor  from  His  fold  would  roam. 


214  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

The  tender  care  of  parents'  love 

And  wisdom  from  on  high 
Have  planted  here  the  seeds  of  peace 

And  joys  that  cannot  die. 

Then  blessings  on  these  honored  heads 

And  love,  their  golden  fleece, 
Still  smooth  the  downward  way  of  life 

Through  blessed  paths  of  peace. 

Now  may  the  Gracious  Comforter, 

The  Flame,  the  Holy  Dove, 
Keep  ever  warm  their  failing  hearts 

And  brood  their  sacred  love. 

Some  time  during  the  hard  years  of  1 894  and  1 895, 
in  sympathy  with  the  farmers  of  my  District,  I  wrote 
the  following  in  their  own  dialect.  It  is  safe  to  say 
that  it  expressed  the  feelings  of  thousands  of  farmers  in 
those  times: 

THE  farmer's  complaint. 

I  have  something  to  say  of  my  masters. 
It  will  make  your  ears  tingle  I  know. 

For  they  have  filled  this  fair  land  with  disasters 
And  laid  more'n  a  million  homes  low. 

They're  the  trusts,  the  combines,  corporations 

Of  the  railroads,  of  sugar  and  coal, 
The  factories,  machinery  and  matches, 

Most  everything's  in  their  control. 

The  farmer  he  toils  like  a  nigger 
And  plows  and  harrows  and  hoes, 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  2 1 5 

He  fills  all  his  barns  full  of  fodder. 
But  that  doesn't  buy  him  no  clothes. 

The  market  is  distant  and  fickle 

And  the  freight  rates  enormous ;  You've  heard 
Two  bushels  won't  take  one  to  market 

And  commission  men  gobble  the  third. 

I  planted  a  lot  of  purtaters, 

'Cause  the  price  was  way  up  in  the  spring. 
And  my  girls  they  hoed  and  picked  bugs  off 

Hoping  dresses  and  every  such  thing. 

We  had  a  big  crop,  you  believe  it, 
The  price  was  good  fifty  miles  down. 

The  railroad  with  rules  regulations 
Couldn't  carry  the  crop  to  the  town. 

The  purtaters  all  rot  in  the  cellar 

And  the  girls  wear  around  their  ole  clothes. 

But  the  railroad  got  rich  by  a  "  corner," 
And  that's  the  way  everything  goes. 

Our  corn  wasn't  ten  cents  a  bushel, 
Though  the  prices  were  fair  up  above, 

While  the  coal  it  went  higher  and  higher 
And  the  corn  it  went  into  the  stove. 

The  smell  of  it  burnin'  is  incense 

No  doubt  to  the  capitalist's  nose. 
But  it  makes  my  ole  heart  ache  to  smell  it 

While  I  shiver  in  worn  out  clothes. 

The  lawyer's  foreclosing  the  mortgage 
And  usury's  made  the  thing  grow 


216  The  Farmer  Bo^ 

Till  we  can't  even  pay  just  the  interest. 
So  our  hopes  and  our  home  they  must  go. 

The  mechanic  and  brakeman's  no  better. 

Their  wages  are  all  cut  so  low 
On  the  plea  of  hard  times  to  the  railroad. 

Or  the  trust  can  no  dividend  show. 

So  we  eat  our  corn  cake  for  our  dinner 

Without  coffee,  or  sugar,  or  wine. 
While  the  rich  they  grow  richer  and  richer 

And  the  trusts  they  go  on  to  combine. 

What  we're  comin'  to  no  one  can  tell  us. 
But  the  kings  and  the  tyrants  of  old 

Didn't  grind  their  poor  subjects  no  harder 
Than  these  modern  monarchs  of  gold. 

One  time  late  at  night  I  arrived  at  the  little  town  of 
Culbertson.  I  went  to  bed  in  the  hotel  intending  to 
sleep  late  in  the  morning.  About  daylight  a  rooster 
came  crowing  under  my  window  and  woke  me  up.  It 
made  me  think  of  the  "  the  priest  all  shaven  and  shorn." 
in  the  nursery  rhyme  of  "  The  House  that  Jack  Built." 
As  I  lay  there  I  enlarged  the  story  by  bringing  in 
nearly  all  the  domestic  animals  and  all  the  words  that 
rhyme  or  nearly  rhyme  with  horn,  as  follows: 

This  is  the  Farmer  who  tilled  the  farm 

Where  lived  the  Mouse  that  squeaked  in  alarm 

To  the  timid  Dove  that  did  no  harm 

To  the  lazy  Pig  of  rounded  form. 

Or  the  Guinea-hen  in  her  nest  so  warm, 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  217 

Or  the  Peacock  spreading  his  tail  to  adorn 

The  scene  where  the  Turkey  with  beak  like  thorn. 

That  pecked  the  Donkey  so  long  since  born. 

That  brayed  to  the  Horse  that  neighed  in  scorn 

At  the  silly  Goose  that  cracked  the  corn. 

That  startled  the  Duck  that  quacked  to  warn 

The  lusty  Cock  that  crowed  in  the  morn, 

That  Wakened  the  Priest  all  shaven  and  shorn. 

That  married  the  Man  all  tattered  and  torn 

To  the  Maiden  all  forlorn. 

That  milked  the  Cow  with  the  crumpled  horn, 

That  tossed  the  Dog, 

That  worried  the  Cat, 

That  killed  the  Rat, 

That  ate  the  Malt, 

That  lay  in  the  House, 

That  Jack  built. 

It  was  my  lot  while  doing  my  work  as  bishop  in 
Nebraska  to  spend  hours  in  making  connection  with 
trains  at  the  little  junction  town  of  Kenesaw,  on  the 
Burlington  Line.  Once  while  doing  so  I  passed  away 
the  time  by  writing  the  following: 

KENESAW  JUNCTION. 
There  is  a  dreary  junction  spot, 
A  place  by  angels  long  forgot. 
Where  neither  reason,  sense,  nor  law 
Prevents  a  wait  at  Kenesaw. 

To  wait  so  long  will  make  you  sad. 
But  there's  no  use  in  getting  mad. 
For  smile,  or  swear,  or  sing,  or  jaw. 
You're  bound  to  wait  at  Kenesaw. 


218  The  Farmer  Boy 

The  hours  come  in,  the  hours  go  by. 
You  weary  grow  and  fret  and  sigh. 
Look  up  or  down  no  train  you  saw 
While  waiting  long  at  Kenesaw. 

The  room  is  small ;  it  matters  not 
If  fire  goes  out,  or  stove  gets  hot. 
By  turns  you  freeze  and  then  you  thaw 
While  waiting  trains  at  Kenesaw. 

You  sit  and  read  and  read  and  sit 
Until  you  fear  a  nervous  fit. 
The  seats  grow  hard,  your  bones  grow  raw 
While  waiting  trains  at  Kenesaw. 

The  time  is  up!  hope  beams  on  fate! 
And  then  you're  told  the  train  is  late. 
You  sigh  and  groan  with  hungry  maw. 
But  still  you  wait  at  Kenesaw. 

With  dreary  length  the  hours  drag  on. 
You're  sick  with  cursing  Burlington, 
In  heart  or  brain  there's  sure  a  flaw. 
You're  paralyzed  at  Kenesaw. 

I  had  often  to  return  to  my  home  by  a  branch  rail- 
road and  on  a  freight  train.  They  stopped  a  long  time 
at  each  little  station  and  sometimes  between  stations 
unloading  railroad  material.  I  once  cheered  the  weary 
way  by  writing  these  lines : 

THE  KEARNEY  FREIGHT. 

Did  it  ever  fall  to  your  miserable  fate 

To  come  from  the  east  by  the  Kearney  freight? 


Who  Became  a  Bishop  219 

Did  you  get  uneasy  and  somewhat  sour 
From  waiting  at  Hastings  a  good  long  hour? 

Did  you  whistle  the  tune  "  Juniata  Blue," 
As  that  wonderful  town  you  were  dragging  through? 
Did  you  think  it  a  beautiful  city  you  saw. 
While  they  switched  for  two  hours  at  Kenesaw? 

Was  delay  at  Lowell  so  dreary  until 
You  thought  of  the  "  Tale  of  Metropolisville  " 
Of  its  glory  departed  out  of  the  land? 
Did  you  wish  that  your  train  would  pull  out  of  the 
sand? 

Was  it  car-loads  of  cinders,  or  car-loads  of  ties. 
They  slowly  unloaded,  ignoring  your  sighs 
And  strung  them  for  miles  along  by  the  track? 
Did  the  engine  back  up  and  give  you  a  whack? 

Did  you  sing  while  at  Newark  a  bright,  cheerful  song? 
Did  the  bridge  o'er  the  Platte  seem  twenty  miles  long? 
And  how  many  hours  did  you  think  you  were  late. 
When  at  last  you  got  in  by  the  Kearney  Freight? 

In  1908  I  noticed  in  some  magazine  a  demand  for 
a  new  national  hymn  or  anthem,  less  provincial  and 
puritanic  than  "  My  Country  'tis  of  thee."  I  composed 
the  following  which  can  be  sung  to  the  same  tune  as 
"  My  Country  'tis  of  thee,"  though  I  afterward  wrote 
music  for  it  myself. 

A  NEW  NATIONAL  HYMN. 
Our  country  fair  and  strong. 
We  raise  a  joyful  song 
To  thy  great  name. 


220  The  Farmer  Boy 

Stretching  from  sea  to  sea, 
A  country  just  and  free. 
Our  hopes  are  bound  to  thee 
And  thy  bright  fame. 

No  tyrants  here  survive. 
Here  honest  men  can  thrive 

And  freedom  find ; 
With  open  arms  for  all 
Who  flee  from  kingly  thrall. 
We  send  a  generous  call 

To  all  mankind. 

Here  come  and  toil  and  live 
And  learn  with  us  to  give 

Our  joys,  our  tears. 
Here  solve  the  problems  great 
Of  labor,  church  and  state. 
Transplanting  love  for  hate 

And  hope  for  fears. 

Novy  sons  of  noble  sires 
Light  patriotic  fires 

Through  this  broad  land. 
Let  vv^ars  forever  cease. 
Let  justice,  love  and  peace 
Throughout  the  world  increase 

By  our  strong  hand. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


orm  L9-50m-7. '54(5990)444 


I  II  II  nil   III  ml  II 


AA    000  979  241    7 


599^ 
G7^A2 


